spectacle one {bh}
Jun 22, 2023 13:32:28 GMT -5
Post by pogue on Jun 22, 2023 13:32:28 GMT -5
He marks the trees around him with palm prints of red, stumbling away from the Bloodbath and claiming the moniker as his own to keep. The world claws at him, curled branches and brush scraping against skin and open wound and causing him to gasp out into the air, stifle his own screams and choke them back.
It takes all of his strength to not fall as soon as he comes to a rest in the clearing, to gather up firewood and white-knuckle it between his digits, feeling his life seep into the ground below. Fingertips pressed heavy into the branches, survival and desperation rooted in the sweat that drips from his forehead.
By the time fire springs forth he's anything but relieved, watching orange and red dance in the light, knowing what he's about to do.
He's only seen the deep inside of his own flesh once before, a couple years back and on a route less traveled between Four and Nine. He'd sliced open his forearm on a freshly sharpened throwing axe, ego and hubris and everything in between soaking his forearm in nothing but scarlet, mangled muscle and sinew clinging to his body like string. Fucking Jack "Rabbit", de facto leader (inaccurate) and traveling pyromaniac (very accurate) had declared himself the medic-of-the-moment, grabbing his mangled limb, a lighter, a raggedy bandana and a whole lot of nerve together in between his knuckles.
The first two he'd pulled in close, and the last two were used to shove the bandana down his throat to stop him from screamin'. "You're gonna wanna bite down in a sec-" There's a warning in the chit chit and the sizzle of flame to air and flame to open flesh and expletives soaked in a faded blue bandana.
It'd felt just like
this,
there's a little red dot in his peripheral as he moves the fire towards his open wounds, trying to stop his hand from shaking as he does so. It's only when the fire touches his open wound that he slams his eyes shut and connects tooth to steel far too clean, tasting metal and his own bloody spit as it leaks from his lips to the ground below.
His eyes flutter between open and closed as he bare palms to bark of the tree to his right, the only thing left grounding him as the world covers itself in darkness and back again, flipping itself over and over until it finally comes to a rest. His stomach continues with the somersaults and his breaths become ragged, clawing up through his throat and out into the calmed sounds of the forest around him.
He's dripping in red when it finally stops, wound burned closed and a boy bent but not broken. And there's still open flesh and torn muscles, bone exposed and weeping crimson as he stains the pristine grass below.He catches what's left of his breath and goes to move the flame towards his other wound, only stopping when the sound of rustling from the opposite side of the clearing greets his ears.
There's fight or flight or freeze- or get fucked. He rests in the latter, three feet under and headed to six.
A spectacle pulls a knife from his teeth and holds it like it'll help him, trembling softly in the wind as he waits for his fate.
It takes all of his strength to not fall as soon as he comes to a rest in the clearing, to gather up firewood and white-knuckle it between his digits, feeling his life seep into the ground below. Fingertips pressed heavy into the branches, survival and desperation rooted in the sweat that drips from his forehead.
By the time fire springs forth he's anything but relieved, watching orange and red dance in the light, knowing what he's about to do.
He's only seen the deep inside of his own flesh once before, a couple years back and on a route less traveled between Four and Nine. He'd sliced open his forearm on a freshly sharpened throwing axe, ego and hubris and everything in between soaking his forearm in nothing but scarlet, mangled muscle and sinew clinging to his body like string. Fucking Jack "Rabbit", de facto leader (inaccurate) and traveling pyromaniac (very accurate) had declared himself the medic-of-the-moment, grabbing his mangled limb, a lighter, a raggedy bandana and a whole lot of nerve together in between his knuckles.
The first two he'd pulled in close, and the last two were used to shove the bandana down his throat to stop him from screamin'. "You're gonna wanna bite down in a sec-" There's a warning in the chit chit and the sizzle of flame to air and flame to open flesh and expletives soaked in a faded blue bandana.
It'd felt just like
this,
there's a little red dot in his peripheral as he moves the fire towards his open wounds, trying to stop his hand from shaking as he does so. It's only when the fire touches his open wound that he slams his eyes shut and connects tooth to steel far too clean, tasting metal and his own bloody spit as it leaks from his lips to the ground below.
His eyes flutter between open and closed as he bare palms to bark of the tree to his right, the only thing left grounding him as the world covers itself in darkness and back again, flipping itself over and over until it finally comes to a rest. His stomach continues with the somersaults and his breaths become ragged, clawing up through his throat and out into the calmed sounds of the forest around him.
He's dripping in red when it finally stops, wound burned closed and a boy bent but not broken. And there's still open flesh and torn muscles, bone exposed and weeping crimson as he stains the pristine grass below.He catches what's left of his breath and goes to move the flame towards his other wound, only stopping when the sound of rustling from the opposite side of the clearing greets his ears.
There's fight or flight or freeze- or get fucked. He rests in the latter, three feet under and headed to six.
A spectacle pulls a knife from his teeth and holds it like it'll help him, trembling softly in the wind as he waits for his fate.
