be still and know [tex . day 5]
Aug 2, 2022 13:49:34 GMT -5
Post by pogue on Aug 2, 2022 13:49:34 GMT -5
In the far back corner of the Caves there is a boy with blood on his hands, and his face, and his chest, the only sounds his shallow breathing and the drip of scarlet and black.
Breathe in, drip. Out, drip.
From the tip of his spear he watches red collect, illuminated only by the soft green glow of the slime coating the walls. Bloodshot eyes trace its path as he raises the tip of the spear up towards the never-ending roof of the caverns, granite stained purple then crimson threatening the heavens, a destination he'll never reach.
But hell will reach him. Andrew's blood collects like grief, starting at the point where he'd pressed it into the soft flesh of the boy's neck, pressed and shoved until it'd split out the back and into the cave's cool air. Scarlet traces anything but straight down the shaft of the weapon, veins scattering in between the ridges of harsh carved stalagmite, settling into permanence as reminders. Bloodshot eyes follow it's every moment, Tex standing still halfway in his own casket and watching the consequences of his own actions step slowly towards him. Brody Loomis had been a coward after all, mumbled bark and no bite to be found and shaking spirit. Tex had looked to him with bloody grin and bloodshot eyes and skin stained red, Andrew coughing up what was left of his life with a spear in his neck, scarlet drops plastered against Tex's face still trying to dry in the cold interior.
There's still corruption laced into his skin as he watches the blood now, purple veins glowing softly in the darkness, lungs still reeling with purple haze. It tastes of iron and ore, dripping slowly down the back of his throat even now, unmistakable and unforgivable and everything in between. Fingertips still stained black reach out to greet the blood droplet as if reconnecting with an old friend, the memories of Twelve's smog-stained skies ingrained permanent into his skin, of brushing dirt onto a half-buried casket, of holding his sister's hand until there wasn't a pulse to feel anymore, until there was nothing left to lose and nothing to gain.
Scarlet meets flesh, turns black to red, then burns.
Breath caught in throat, heartbeat in chest, boy trapped in his own suffering. Time stands still as if a sentinel, admiring its broken creation and waiting for the pieces to fall, waiting for what could never be forgotten to be remembered once again. Texas rubs the blood between his fingertips, feels its warmth turn to ice against his skin, then stares at it for what feels like an eternity.
Finally, he laughs.
What comes next is an unraveling of sorts, soft and graceful at first and bloody last. Driven by hurt and corruption and everything evil Texas Lovell laughs until his chest hurts, manic cackles of a boy stained purple fill the veins of the cave systems, lungs heaving in shallow chest. He laughs at the pure absurdity of it, that with shaking hands and graceless form he has driven the tip of his spear into and through the necks of two other people, of two other people, of people. Cannon sounds in the back of his mind, seeing red in the front, Tex laughs until the blood on his spear finally dries, liquid once bright red turning black and slipping into the shadows of the caves.
Good things come to an end, bad things are forever, Texas laughs for an eternity until eternity laughs back, until corruption and purple smoke bleed out from his veins like Andrew's throat, until a boy from Twelve stares at what he's done, realizes where it's brought him. Unraveling, bloody at last, he drops his spear and stumbles backwards until he meets the cavern wall, feeling it drag against his flesh as he drops to his knees and stares in horror at how much blood now rests against his skin. He doesn't know which is Kip's, which is Alpha's, Andrew's, his own, doesn't know how to separate the red from the brown from the black from the hurting, he stammers and grasps for breaths that do not come, panic settling into his veins and realization into his mind. "No no no no nonononon-"
It's selfishness now, the way he holds his head in his hands and feels the guilt of what he's done settle into his brain in harsh abundance, no corruption left to stand against it. Unravel and shatter, a boy from Twelve feels the ghosts of everything he has lost and all the nothing he has gained from it press into his shoulders as he breaks. "Please-" Soft, a whisper. "I don't want to feel this, I don't want to feel this, I don't-" A plead, guilt, selfish in its endeavor.
To feel like how he felt when he'd watched the life drain from Andrew's eyes, his spear stained red and smiling with purple in his veins. "Please, anyone-" Kneeling to any god that will take him, his voice trembling throughout the caves. "I want that back." That, purple fog and evil in his bones, a spear in the neck and nothing in his heart. To run, to escape, to do what he has to do with none of the consequences. "Please, please-"
He begs, pleads for it to go away, a boy broken and put back together again all for the shatter to start once more. He begs until his own tears feel like Andrew's blood, until they go from fire to ice against his skin. He pleads until the sound of his own cries are only interrupted by the sky opening above him, trumpets blaring and beeping and echoing into the cave. Brown eyes long since bloodshot drift up, from spear stained red to sky stained black.
Red stares back at him, purple tint laced in its grasp.
Beeping softly, slowly, a prayer answered. A deal, a promise.
