anaemic galaxies {atlas/justice}

Seconds tick from my hands into the oblivion; I wish I was blessed enough to put my belief into the hands of a higher being.

To stare into the night sky and wonder if there was anything to be done to prevent the inevitable and hope time could become stagnant. To wonder if this was simply some kind of lucid dream and that I will wake up to the sunlight on the walls and to put my thought into anything but this. But there is no higher power to guide my hand, only a mindset to match the middle of my delusions.

Coffee runs through my network of veins- I gave up on sleep long after the clock struck twelve and I mentally lost count of another tribute to add to my ever growing list of death promises. But I do not dare to let a complaint slip from the back of my tongue -

(you could be strong enough to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders if you wanted to)

- I asked for the chance to mend this hollow family name. And I would never dare let the admission come out louder than a passing thought to die in the dying wind but I want anything but this; I want sun and home. I want a spear to defy the gods themselves to sink into the stomach of a dummy, not a person who's more than a set of organs, I want to look down and see Adora's innocence reflected in her eyes, not these metallic blue carpets, I want to hold out my hand and see touch Annika, Mother, Aedan, Styx, Father a girl, anyone but Justice fucking Fray; I just want to have a set of purposes that cannot be defined in powers of three.

I want the sunlight on the walls to break this lucid nightmare.

"I am not afraid," I speak it loud and proud, but there's no one to convince but myself. And as much as the soft pillows remind me of falling onto bed after a tired days' work of training and these sheets feel like they're shielding me from something deeper than a frosted touch, I hoist myself up and let my bare feet touch the metallic blue carpets and the hope of a good night's sleep crunch beneath my feet.

I suppose borrowed time must run a lot slower than real time.

There is no higher being to place my belief into except myself but it's irrational to pass such a responsibility to a man who wears a crown thanks to his lies, to someone who only feels control when he's anything but dry and sober.

My thoughts drift like a wooden boat on a distant lake, it's no surprise when I subconsciously reach for the bottle and it finds its way into my fingers; I suppose there was always a sense of grounding that came with sobriety and a clean mind - something unneeded when running on nothing but coffee, latent adrenaline and borrowed time. I chuckle, letting the drink fall into the glass and forget about the house of cards at home just waiting to collapse.

(forget about that god-serving spear bathing in year old kin's blood)

My breath catches in the back of my throat when I hear the footsteps in the dark not far behind me. Like soft thunderclaps against my ears - as if I'm just counting white gunshots leading up to infinity.

Counting the seconds of borrowed time.

Primal instinct my new reality, I spin around with the half empty bottle and full glass in my hands. I pause, almost stutter even, at the sight of Justice Fray. Temporarily blinded to reason, I'm already speaking before questions can even be asked, shallow justification streaming like a river.

"I wasn't tired, it helps me sleep."

I'm just a spinner of tall tales that hasn't yet been found.

(just waiting to be found in his final regicide.)