HELLEVATOR — vrm v mutts, day 2
Oct 31, 2023 1:25:38 GMT -5
Post by lucius branwen / 10 — fox on Oct 31, 2023 1:25:38 GMT -5
❦
leaned against his pulse, blade against his abdomen. the look on his face lies on an edge. strange place between i'll set you on fire – i am burning. Roe pins Mateo, Mateo flashes something silver in his hands.
okay.
i hold Roe by the shoulder.
there's a knife cradled there, and i am not pulling him. i am not asking. i only think, i'm not sure if i can go through stitching him again.
"you'll open the sutures," i tell him. the rungs of his ribs ease a little.
the wind spills out when i open the door again. branches of elm, they cleft the light. echoing, the stairwell speaks back. i open the door, and they do not kill each other. okay. good. "let's go."
on the road,
he is supine. an eye rolls from his jaws, swallowed into the pale grey belly. wrist-deep, hands warm, they call this revelation.
where are you going.
he has been hunted. body strewn over pebbles.
home.
you are dead.
the first story.
in the dark, his eyes are pools of light.
spámaðr.
yes.
the air clots. the smell of blood and flowers, one warm spring day. i sit there, look at my hands. i am always fifteen. the eye is unearthed in my palm.
my fox watches, little flame, changing in the room. the lines of his body shift with sound. softly, murmuring to eachother, their voices float over the mountains and valleys of shape in the night.
the age when nothing was.
masses of ice and rime.
close my eyes. i tell myself, the room is quiet because it is late. Mateo lies on my arm. the shadows are from the bed, from the moonlit panes, from our bodies. i am here now. oh, that is the sound of Roe breathing. i think maybe i memorized it in the medical wing. i think it was an accident. the room smells of pine. i can't sleep.
i move from beneath Mateo, his outline silver, lifting his head gently. it feels colder now. Roe shifts in sleep. i pull the blanket over him, and leave.
when i was little, i was afraid of the dark. i don’t think i ever lost the fear. i think i learned to live with it.
in the forest, the sun rises, uneven. broken over treetops and hills. i watch the sky turn blue before dawn, drink in the cold air of quiet. sometimes, memories are the same colour. i think of Sindri, bounding between the trees, splashing in streams. even his happiness felt serious. not grave, but fervent. like he could feel life to an unfathomable depth.
i don't know. i just remember i prayed for my dog to have an afterlife.
the sky glows pink. the sun is warm on my cheeks. i walk back to the rooms, where they stir awake.
Mateo sits up from the bed. blood of the wolf, warm against my shoulder in sleep. i didn't know what to say then, watching his gaze, molten gold in flame. his palm there in mine, bloodstained. i stand before him, and lean down to eye-level. he asked for his future.
now the answer – look at your hands.
six throwing knives. i give them to him. "morning."
they fan like a bouquet.
"for you."
"i think i saw its eyes move," Mateo says.
a sudden loud scoff, then Roe heads for the elevator. the walls are lined with body parts of plastic, dummies strewn across the hall. carrion. overnight, they appeared.
revenants, it whispers, twined in my hair.
he hits the button.
from the mounds, the raven croaks.
ding!
we step into the small, metal room. a quiet song plays, fuzzy in the air. i didn't understand it until i stared around, and Jacquelyn noticed. elevator music, she explained when we arrived. the door slides slowly closed, an arm twitches alive.
"hey," i turn to Roe. "um."
softly, i draw the glaive. the singing of metal. he only stares back.
ding!
sixth. no one here. more bodies. a shadow moves. breath hitches.
the door closes. the metal hums.
there's a soft scratching noise. rubbing against my ear. it goes and goes and i look up, the lights flicker and beat. they are coming.
"Roe–"
the ground tilts, walls vibrating, something thudding on the roof.
ding!
fifth. it comes from the shaft, one limb crawling in.
leaned against his pulse, blade against his abdomen. the look on his face lies on an edge. strange place between i'll set you on fire – i am burning. Roe pins Mateo, Mateo flashes something silver in his hands.
okay.
i hold Roe by the shoulder.
there's a knife cradled there, and i am not pulling him. i am not asking. i only think, i'm not sure if i can go through stitching him again.
"you'll open the sutures," i tell him. the rungs of his ribs ease a little.
the wind spills out when i open the door again. branches of elm, they cleft the light. echoing, the stairwell speaks back. i open the door, and they do not kill each other. okay. good. "let's go."
𓅪
on the road,
he is supine. an eye rolls from his jaws, swallowed into the pale grey belly. wrist-deep, hands warm, they call this revelation.
where are you going.
he has been hunted. body strewn over pebbles.
home.
you are dead.
the first story.
in the dark, his eyes are pools of light.
spámaðr.
yes.
the air clots. the smell of blood and flowers, one warm spring day. i sit there, look at my hands. i am always fifteen. the eye is unearthed in my palm.
my fox watches, little flame, changing in the room. the lines of his body shift with sound. softly, murmuring to eachother, their voices float over the mountains and valleys of shape in the night.
the age when nothing was.
masses of ice and rime.
close my eyes. i tell myself, the room is quiet because it is late. Mateo lies on my arm. the shadows are from the bed, from the moonlit panes, from our bodies. i am here now. oh, that is the sound of Roe breathing. i think maybe i memorized it in the medical wing. i think it was an accident. the room smells of pine. i can't sleep.
i move from beneath Mateo, his outline silver, lifting his head gently. it feels colder now. Roe shifts in sleep. i pull the blanket over him, and leave.
when i was little, i was afraid of the dark. i don’t think i ever lost the fear. i think i learned to live with it.
in the forest, the sun rises, uneven. broken over treetops and hills. i watch the sky turn blue before dawn, drink in the cold air of quiet. sometimes, memories are the same colour. i think of Sindri, bounding between the trees, splashing in streams. even his happiness felt serious. not grave, but fervent. like he could feel life to an unfathomable depth.
i don't know. i just remember i prayed for my dog to have an afterlife.
the sky glows pink. the sun is warm on my cheeks. i walk back to the rooms, where they stir awake.
Mateo sits up from the bed. blood of the wolf, warm against my shoulder in sleep. i didn't know what to say then, watching his gaze, molten gold in flame. his palm there in mine, bloodstained. i stand before him, and lean down to eye-level. he asked for his future.
now the answer – look at your hands.
six throwing knives. i give them to him. "morning."
they fan like a bouquet.
"for you."
𓅪
"i think i saw its eyes move," Mateo says.
a sudden loud scoff, then Roe heads for the elevator. the walls are lined with body parts of plastic, dummies strewn across the hall. carrion. overnight, they appeared.
revenants, it whispers, twined in my hair.
he hits the button.
from the mounds, the raven croaks.
ding!
we step into the small, metal room. a quiet song plays, fuzzy in the air. i didn't understand it until i stared around, and Jacquelyn noticed. elevator music, she explained when we arrived. the door slides slowly closed, an arm twitches alive.
"hey," i turn to Roe. "um."
softly, i draw the glaive. the singing of metal. he only stares back.
ding!
sixth. no one here. more bodies. a shadow moves. breath hitches.
the door closes. the metal hums.
there's a soft scratching noise. rubbing against my ear. it goes and goes and i look up, the lights flicker and beat. they are coming.
"Roe–"
the ground tilts, walls vibrating, something thudding on the roof.
ding!
fifth. it comes from the shaft, one limb crawling in.
vin attacks the dummies from hell | glaive
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13131 -- Deep Gash on Cheek -- 8.5
