ruins } arx's victor au
Oct 23, 2016 23:32:36 GMT -5
Post by arx on Oct 23, 2016 23:32:36 GMT -5
justice fray
And all at once the world just--
Stops.
I stare into her eyes, struggling to keep my feet beneath me and my knees from buckling. Liquid suffocates me; I cough. Blood spatter appears against her pale skin, I feel it dripping down my chin. And we simply stand there like that—her sword through my chest, her small frame struggling to keep my weight from shifting one way or the other—staring into eachother's eyes. Infinity. She shifts, twists the blade. I groan in agony, my vision blurs, and then--Boom!
I failed. I'm not going home, I'm not ever going to get the chance to prove that I'm better. I can be better. I'm never going to be better. My story is ending and all I've ever been is an insufferable asshole. No. I can't. I'm not ready, I can't do this, I can't--
"I-Iris, plea-please, I--"
She pulls her blade free and all at once the world just--
"Dad!"
I sit up just in time to get tackled back to the ground. The grass tickles my ears and hair tickles my face. His hair smells like lilac. He giggles profusely, his heartbeat strong against my chest. I lift him in the air, spin him in circles, tickle his ribs as I stand. He protests in almost unrecognizable squeals—("No, Dad, wait--DAD!")—before finally resorting to a different strategy. He flails useless for a few more seconds before calling to his brother.
"AAAAA-ATLAS! HELP ME!"
And just as sure as night turns to day, Atlas's little head pops up from within the tall grass at the sound of his brother's cries. For a moment we lock eyes, his toothy grin nearly making my heart stop right then and there. And then he picks himself up, stumbling through the grass that tangles itself around his ankles.
Machaon continues to squirm in my arms, his long hair dangling in his face so that he has to spit it from his mouth so that he can breathe. I throw him over my shoulder quickly, turning to run from Atlas who is already claiming—("Don't worry, Mach! I'll save you!")—when I've already got a head start toward the house. I peer over my shoulder and laugh, out of breath but still able to smile.
And then I feel tiny hands tugging against my shirt. And then another pair, clinging to my pant leg. I slow to a halt, four boys too much to handle even for someone as strong as me. Atlas comes from behind, tackling me at the waist and I fall. The grass swallows me and I laugh, feigning defeat as the each pile on top of me, one after the other. First Atlas, then Machaon and Roger. I groan under their weight and lift my head to smile at Atlas who is suffering under the weight of his younger brothers.
"Got ya, Dad," he says, forcing his lungs to grab enough air for the declaration. I chuckle, as a the smallest pair of hands grabs at my ears, pulls my head back so that I look him in the eyes.
"Hey Stevie," I grumble with a smile as his sticky fingers and popsicle red lips press into my forehead.
"Love you, Dad."
I ruffle his curly hair as the other boys roll off me at the sound of Scout's voice from the front door.
"Love you, too, buddy."
I roll over, slowly make it to my feet as the boys—my precious, little boys—run through the grass to the most beautiful, intelligent, iron-willed woman I've ever met. Even from this distance I can see those freckles across her cheeks that I adore so much, can admire the crinkles at the corners of her eyes and on the bridge of her nose as she laughs along with our sons.
("Like sprinkles on cupcakes," I whisper, kissing her cheek with a smile.)
And all at once the world just--
How did I get so damn lucky?
I chuckle to myself, shake my head. Take a step toward home.
Must've been a good man in another life, I suppose.
Stops.
I stare into her eyes, struggling to keep my feet beneath me and my knees from buckling. Liquid suffocates me; I cough. Blood spatter appears against her pale skin, I feel it dripping down my chin. And we simply stand there like that—her sword through my chest, her small frame struggling to keep my weight from shifting one way or the other—staring into eachother's eyes. Infinity. She shifts, twists the blade. I groan in agony, my vision blurs, and then--Boom!
I failed. I'm not going home, I'm not ever going to get the chance to prove that I'm better. I can be better. I'm never going to be better. My story is ending and all I've ever been is an insufferable asshole. No. I can't. I'm not ready, I can't do this, I can't--
"I-Iris, plea-please, I--"
She pulls her blade free and all at once the world just--
"Dad!"
I sit up just in time to get tackled back to the ground. The grass tickles my ears and hair tickles my face. His hair smells like lilac. He giggles profusely, his heartbeat strong against my chest. I lift him in the air, spin him in circles, tickle his ribs as I stand. He protests in almost unrecognizable squeals—("No, Dad, wait--DAD!")—before finally resorting to a different strategy. He flails useless for a few more seconds before calling to his brother.
"AAAAA-ATLAS! HELP ME!"
And just as sure as night turns to day, Atlas's little head pops up from within the tall grass at the sound of his brother's cries. For a moment we lock eyes, his toothy grin nearly making my heart stop right then and there. And then he picks himself up, stumbling through the grass that tangles itself around his ankles.
Machaon continues to squirm in my arms, his long hair dangling in his face so that he has to spit it from his mouth so that he can breathe. I throw him over my shoulder quickly, turning to run from Atlas who is already claiming—("Don't worry, Mach! I'll save you!")—when I've already got a head start toward the house. I peer over my shoulder and laugh, out of breath but still able to smile.
And then I feel tiny hands tugging against my shirt. And then another pair, clinging to my pant leg. I slow to a halt, four boys too much to handle even for someone as strong as me. Atlas comes from behind, tackling me at the waist and I fall. The grass swallows me and I laugh, feigning defeat as the each pile on top of me, one after the other. First Atlas, then Machaon and Roger. I groan under their weight and lift my head to smile at Atlas who is suffering under the weight of his younger brothers.
"Got ya, Dad," he says, forcing his lungs to grab enough air for the declaration. I chuckle, as a the smallest pair of hands grabs at my ears, pulls my head back so that I look him in the eyes.
"Hey Stevie," I grumble with a smile as his sticky fingers and popsicle red lips press into my forehead.
"Love you, Dad."
I ruffle his curly hair as the other boys roll off me at the sound of Scout's voice from the front door.
"Love you, too, buddy."
I roll over, slowly make it to my feet as the boys—my precious, little boys—run through the grass to the most beautiful, intelligent, iron-willed woman I've ever met. Even from this distance I can see those freckles across her cheeks that I adore so much, can admire the crinkles at the corners of her eyes and on the bridge of her nose as she laughs along with our sons.
("Like sprinkles on cupcakes," I whisper, kissing her cheek with a smile.)
And all at once the world just--
How did I get so damn lucky?
I chuckle to myself, shake my head. Take a step toward home.
Must've been a good man in another life, I suppose.
[ s e v e n t y - t h i r d ]