and see nothing / krueger
Aug 9, 2023 17:31:23 GMT -5
Post by pogue on Aug 9, 2023 17:31:23 GMT -5
They took his body an eternity ago.
The flowers that once bloomed underneath the body still sit in Magi's wake, bouncing and dancing amongst the ripples of the lagoon. Krueger has sat, half in shock and half bled out and counted each and every petal cascaded through his gaze, him and the eyes that adorn his chest and face and everything in between choking in the silence.
He should feel better now that the boy he'd killed is gone, arm of the hovercraft curling around bloody limbs and carrying him up towards whatever came next, or whatever didn't.
It's only when the pixies grow bored with picking at his flesh, finally stop pulling ribbons of skin and muscle into the air and spinning them like jump rope, that he realizes he's being forced out of the area. Something sinister sweeps through the waters, pulls the soft green hue of the waters towards the forest edge.
Slowly and ever so painfully he climbs to his feet, the water of the lagoon sticking to his skin and clawing at wounds new and old, desperate to claim another for the day.
Cowardice, the he can only apologize to what is left of Magi and the ghosts that come with him when he turns away and puts his back to them, that he'd rather say it to the shadows than the sins, that he is no better than the boy he just killed, that he is worse.
He can't. He won't,
he should.
"Sorry."
The word, muttered so softly that even the curling breeze around him doesn't want it, slips from his lips like something so foul. How ironic, that he can only apologize when there is nothing there to confront him, when the stage has been set and the curtains have been drawn, when he can just as easily ignore the ghosts instead of hearing them.
It's a cry of abandon, a lashing out against the heartlessness that wracks his bones and coats his spear, written in red and sealed in black. He can't help but try to laugh when the only response is the murmur of the shadows in between the trees, nothing to accept and it can't hear you curling at the edge of his mind and his sanity, cutting deep and clawing heavy. The laugh comes out as a cough drier than bone and sicker than scarlet, blood and bile dribbling from his lips and curling down his cheek before it hits the ground below, withers the grass and marks the territory.
Apologizing to the world for surviving. How novel.
How heroic, if there were such a thing left. And he knows there isn't, that the blood on his hands and the tip of his spear is an agreement he had no choice but to make, that he's just as bad as everyone else in here. That he was never any better.
A moral high ground built on weak limb and shaking soul, collapsing into the dust and the dirt and he can only follow suit when he finally presses his back into a nearby tree and slumps down, gasps at the pain that bites back at him and feels tears course down his cheeks. All alone, he watches the trees whisper and turn away from him, their branches cracking and twisting and pointing towards the setting sun.
When he closes his eyes he sees nothing, when he opens them he sees the same. Gulp, swallow, blades carve into his throat amongst the ragged breaths that sit heavy. Maybe Magi was right, the nagging voice in the back of his mind questions, and Krueger can only grit his teeth in response as he looks out towards the lagoon, watches the flowers that once surrounded Magi's body float listlessly in the waters, endless and forgotten.
This is the nothingness, he thinks to himself.
and so is he.
