it blooms tainted; aeson {day 1.5}

I think I lost my mind a while ago
'Cause I've been seeing some ghosts
And I'd be lying if I told you I'm fine
But I lie

Out of sight yet center of mind -- your allies never leave your field of hearing come sunset.

The surface of your mind is grace by the sunset, so you watch day fade in silence and wonder if this sunset will be your last. You squint in the face of the orange glare, spear held heavy at your side. On the border of tranquility, you watch in simple silence. For while you are clad in armor, pieces of metal won't shield you from the detonation that is sure to come. Of course, while a knife in your back beneath a truce flag is the least of your concerns, the possibility hangs over you like a crimson cloud.

This orange horizon could be your last.

Of course, a shortened lifespan was never high on your list of passing thoughts. Despite Aeryn's fears that strike hollow chords and a promise of an eternity of infinite repentance, your heart rate has never quickened at the thought of your dying pulse. The moment you decided to live by violence and die to bloodshed, you spun the wheel attached to the severing of your lifeline and waited for it to come to a halt.

You're still watching that deadly wheel spin; one rotation for circumstance, another for build up and a final whirl for cause. You've watched it decelerate and you have anticipated the deadly consequences that await, you've watched it accelerate and met the idea with nothing but apathy. You don't have the privilege of picking your poison, just the luxury of smiling when you down it.

("Just sayin' people in this business don't tend to live long,"

"Yeah, and?"

"Ain't you got a problem with that?")

Aeryn's concern always stuck a chord deeper than hollow. Yet it was never enough to turn you from your desire to play with fire and see if your skin held the privilege of ignition. You spun the wheel anyway, swearing yourself to a purpose beyond the laws of the land and declaring you would down your poison three times when it came; one for circumstance, one for build up and a final once for cause.

Truth is, you never expected to live long. Not when you were forced to memorize scripture dressed as truth upon tattered pages at six years old and certainly not when you surrendered yourself to the primordial drive that builds kingdoms and topples them all the same. You now live by a double-edged sword.

You press your hands against the metal gripping your chest and you grin, for that's how it's supposed to be.

You wonder if the wheel stopped at circumstance when you spoke those four damned syllables for the sake of someone who's a bigger cunt than you, just better at hiding it. In truth, you can blame the way his words unraveled you with ease all you want, he was nothing but a catalyst for deceleration of your wheel. People like you don't live long and that's the beauty of the amount of destruction you can bring to the world.

It's always done on skint, borrowed time.

Your time was borrowed before you spoke two words and pledged to dance on the edge of that special place in hell promised to you. Whether the wheel would land on a peacekeeper's bullet or the knife's edge of a seductress never boiled your blood.

Out of sight but center of mind; the noise of your allies in the distance to fades from and to background noise as you slowly step. Burying snow beneath your boot and crushing summer's ashes beneath your carelessness. You take in venom with every slow inhale and bring out silvered mist with every exhale, ice bites at exposed parts of your skin and now you take the sweater of yours for granted. You never spared a second thought for the letters printed on their chest, it was warm and that's all that mattered.

You stop where you see the orange glare better along the horizon, the perfect spot where the sun will drop beyond your field of vision. The sunset's always been something you took for granted because you craved the cover of darkness. And before this place, sunset was always the intermediate stage between a state of peace and a call for war. Ava always made sure you were never off doing something to get yourself killed during the day, a time when you were more likely to put in a coffin by peacekeepers as you crushed someone's life within your fist. So when you caught the glare on the orange horizon, you watched in silence and itched for it to pass.

("It doesn't bother me, just so you know."

"Bullshit, everyone's scared to leave something behind when they go.")

This could be your last sunset, so your feet take you to a place where you can watch it easier. It spatters orange and red across the sky and chases violet and blue to a distant memory. You sigh, the heat from your breath scattering across the distance like smoke.

You want the sky to be this color when draw blood from their shattered skin.

Then you want to mar it with shades of agony, crimson scattered from the skin of nineteen others and maybe even your own. After all, you only ever feel alive when your blood boils at the promise of war. A whitewashed portrait you can easily dye sits before you and here you stand, with a gifted spear heavy with blood you didn't spill given to your by Euley Sarasin heavy in your cold hand. You bite back laughter.

The sun's descent doesn't slow, not when it blooms a tainted sky before you and certainly not when you re position yourself so you're in a better line of vision. You stick the point of Euley Sarasin's gift into the snow, watch and breathe.

You stand eye to eye with the dying sun, blooming and ablaze, you remember it could be your last.

("Well, I'm not everyone.")

You never expected to live long; that's why you never gave a piece of yourself to slow the deceleration of that damn wheel.

Yeah, these thoughts I would never speak out loud
I've seen you cry, but I've never seen you
Shout like a hurricane
These shots don't ricochet