all the wars are me — roe & vin / d2, day 4
Nov 21, 2023 13:40:50 GMT -5
Post by fox on Nov 21, 2023 13:40:50 GMT -5
❦
"the day star."
i lift my hand. draw an arc until i touch it.
it glows, faintly orange.
"in summer, it is the first thing after dark. in late winter, it promises dawn."
on the shores of four, i tell Mateo all the stories i know.
it is after twilight, and i tell him how humanity was formed from driftwood on the seashore. the sky deepens in colour, and i tell him the story of Helgi Hundingsbane and his greatest love Sigrun, how they died, how they were born again, just to die once more.
when the sands beneath us become cold and silver, i tell him of the dragon Fafnir, son of Hreidmar, once a man until he was consumed in greed. the stars turn bright. i am telling him how Sigurth dies.
the ocean speaks. in a different slope. not in whispers, but one long breath. my own chest, i lie my hand there, feel the push and pull. the air smells like salt, a little heady.
in the ocean's dark, i listen to the rhythm of his breathing. washed in water, all sound.
i tell him stories, until my throat feels raw from speaking. there is one thing i haven't said.
the first story.
someone dies.
sometimes the words are so heavy i think i want to pull out my tongue, my teeth, move the bones of my chest, so as to let them out.
"remember you asked me." warm breeze, it cradles us. "your future."
i was wrong, i think. maybe i was right too. i did not think him to be a killer, and the carrion birds did not wait for his prey. the morning star shines over the sea. he is covered in shadow and the gleam of the moon. shifting from side to belly, i am facing him now, in faint blue, his body outlined. what is written, what will come.
i rest on my arm, watch the sheer light before dawn fall over his face.
"you are someone good."
he is bright-eyed. like all heroes. i hold his hand.
"you always will be."
Mateo sleeps.
sunlight quiets the water. by him, i kneel. drag the words into the warming sand.
i'll find Roe
be back
on the fourth day, the floor wears gray. coal dust blown in from the caves. the blankets lie around him. a chrysalis broken. the canary still sings.
the canary.
echoing and echoing. the ache, of sleeplessness. i am tired, i think. really. something is always shifting. a bone in me. a crutch.
i left him the watch. the cold black metal catches the first light by his pillow.
he moves.
cold beam on the flame of his cheeks.
in my hands, it blinks awake.
i am looking away, onto the small window of bright glass.
Antigone Jay: Don’t you worry Vin…I left Roe in one piece. Hope you like my handiwork xx
in twelve, the shadows crawl on the walls. all the birds are perched on sharp edges. there is blood on the floors, beneath me, by the bed. dried now, it rusts on my fingers when i touch it. blood on the sheets in the colour of day old wounds, Roe still sleeps.
push, pull. my chest tightens. i touch his forehead. warmth of his skin faded in cool morning. no open wounds on him. the old bruises have turned rotten green. the bandages fold over his body, re-tied, but he stirs awake.
and the first words. i don't mean to say it.
"i'm sorry. i left."
"Roe." we go up the stairs to four.
all fair words make a liar. i know.
i guess Roe could be a bit more of one.
"you said you would do something for me." in the med wing. the loud, deafening machine. he held up a dark image in blue and black. the bright lights of bones. the strangeness, i could not hold. the taste of wine bitterness in my mouth. as i looked and looked away and looked again.
i don't know why. i thought the body would look emptier.
his hand is in mine. i stop between flights.
i touch my head, down my face. drag away the pounding.
"apologize to Mateo."
revenants, the raven whispers. the birds swoop between the railings.
we are falling in feather when the lights in the stairwell turn on. a clock beams on the wall, and Roe is pulling me up the stairs two steps at a time.
the door flings open. the smell of festering, it hits my throat. so strong, it feels stomach lurching.
brushed between my lungs. the age when nothing was.
sleet-cold. in darkness.
sound of fervent words, it echoes through the tunnels. water, putrid, up to our feet. the walls stained with wet time. when the two wolves no longer hunt. they are so close, and they vanish when i turn. shores of bodies. a far away cry, around the tunnel. gone in shadow.
something at my feet.
tail of a rat, as it runs between us.
hear the rustle. the steps.
the weight of his hand changes, tighter in grip, i know it is real.
when it happens, it sounds like a breath. a sharp inhale. they come down like water, flooding through the tunnel. bodies of waves. ever moving mass, clinging to the walls and dripping. the smell. i know it now. the taste of rage from prey. always hunted. murderous and dying.
"the day star."
i lift my hand. draw an arc until i touch it.
it glows, faintly orange.
"in summer, it is the first thing after dark. in late winter, it promises dawn."
on the shores of four, i tell Mateo all the stories i know.
it is after twilight, and i tell him how humanity was formed from driftwood on the seashore. the sky deepens in colour, and i tell him the story of Helgi Hundingsbane and his greatest love Sigrun, how they died, how they were born again, just to die once more.
when the sands beneath us become cold and silver, i tell him of the dragon Fafnir, son of Hreidmar, once a man until he was consumed in greed. the stars turn bright. i am telling him how Sigurth dies.
the ocean speaks. in a different slope. not in whispers, but one long breath. my own chest, i lie my hand there, feel the push and pull. the air smells like salt, a little heady.
in the ocean's dark, i listen to the rhythm of his breathing. washed in water, all sound.
i tell him stories, until my throat feels raw from speaking. there is one thing i haven't said.
the first story.
someone dies.
sometimes the words are so heavy i think i want to pull out my tongue, my teeth, move the bones of my chest, so as to let them out.
"remember you asked me." warm breeze, it cradles us. "your future."
i was wrong, i think. maybe i was right too. i did not think him to be a killer, and the carrion birds did not wait for his prey. the morning star shines over the sea. he is covered in shadow and the gleam of the moon. shifting from side to belly, i am facing him now, in faint blue, his body outlined. what is written, what will come.
i rest on my arm, watch the sheer light before dawn fall over his face.
"you are someone good."
he is bright-eyed. like all heroes. i hold his hand.
"you always will be."
𓅪
Mateo sleeps.
sunlight quiets the water. by him, i kneel. drag the words into the warming sand.
i'll find Roe
be back
𓅪
on the fourth day, the floor wears gray. coal dust blown in from the caves. the blankets lie around him. a chrysalis broken. the canary still sings.
the canary.
echoing and echoing. the ache, of sleeplessness. i am tired, i think. really. something is always shifting. a bone in me. a crutch.
i left him the watch. the cold black metal catches the first light by his pillow.
he moves.
cold beam on the flame of his cheeks.
in my hands, it blinks awake.
i am looking away, onto the small window of bright glass.
Antigone Jay: Don’t you worry Vin…I left Roe in one piece. Hope you like my handiwork xx
in twelve, the shadows crawl on the walls. all the birds are perched on sharp edges. there is blood on the floors, beneath me, by the bed. dried now, it rusts on my fingers when i touch it. blood on the sheets in the colour of day old wounds, Roe still sleeps.
push, pull. my chest tightens. i touch his forehead. warmth of his skin faded in cool morning. no open wounds on him. the old bruises have turned rotten green. the bandages fold over his body, re-tied, but he stirs awake.
and the first words. i don't mean to say it.
"i'm sorry. i left."
𓅪
"Roe." we go up the stairs to four.
all fair words make a liar. i know.
i guess Roe could be a bit more of one.
"you said you would do something for me." in the med wing. the loud, deafening machine. he held up a dark image in blue and black. the bright lights of bones. the strangeness, i could not hold. the taste of wine bitterness in my mouth. as i looked and looked away and looked again.
i don't know why. i thought the body would look emptier.
his hand is in mine. i stop between flights.
i touch my head, down my face. drag away the pounding.
"apologize to Mateo."
revenants, the raven whispers. the birds swoop between the railings.
we are falling in feather when the lights in the stairwell turn on. a clock beams on the wall, and Roe is pulling me up the stairs two steps at a time.
the door flings open. the smell of festering, it hits my throat. so strong, it feels stomach lurching.
brushed between my lungs. the age when nothing was.
sleet-cold. in darkness.
sound of fervent words, it echoes through the tunnels. water, putrid, up to our feet. the walls stained with wet time. when the two wolves no longer hunt. they are so close, and they vanish when i turn. shores of bodies. a far away cry, around the tunnel. gone in shadow.
something at my feet.
tail of a rat, as it runs between us.
hear the rustle. the steps.
the weight of his hand changes, tighter in grip, i know it is real.
when it happens, it sounds like a breath. a sharp inhale. they come down like water, flooding through the tunnel. bodies of waves. ever moving mass, clinging to the walls and dripping. the smell. i know it now. the taste of rage from prey. always hunted. murderous and dying.
XbJNTUz_Hw1-100
