Peekaboo | Sin/Belle Day 7 Mandate
Apr 9, 2021 1:35:59 GMT -5
Post by gamemaker kelsier on Apr 9, 2021 1:35:59 GMT -5
► ► ►
He doesn't know who Adam is or why Belle is talking to him like he should, like there are pieces of him that understand more than a sunrise.
Because he knows those, proper ones, the golden and pink hues that splash red across the pavement and brings tears to his eyes. There are things he doesn't know, so many things. Birthday cake, he wants that just once. Yellow and blue bits of confetti on icing that looks silky smooth, he wants one of those one day.
A soft sound spills low from his throat, too low to be heard over the crackling of the fire and as Belle grabs him, Sin watches his seelie leave.
She tugs on his arm and Sin gazes at her hand, then the blood spilling off her. He's done that, bullets tearing through her skin like paper and that was him. He can't remember why, what seemed so important that he had to get to it.
His legs give out a little and he lays back against the tires, gun falling onto the ground at his feet. It's hard to hold onto it, it's so heavy. he can't pull the trigger anymore anyway, he's tried but it only clicks, once then twice. He's out of bullets.
Mmm, and the sun is setting, low it paints the smoke and the fire looks so red in its light and its beautiful.
It's beautiful like stained glass and so is Castor, a fractured poem that he wants to learn how to read one day.
And in the end he doesn't care who Adam is and he doesn't care that Belle wants to go home too and she doesn't care about him either, no matter what words she says to look all pretty for the cameras.
She doesn't have to kill him or she could at least do it nicely but she doesn't.
Her fist connects with his head, wrapped in brass and Sin's vision skips a couple of beats. He doubles over, ears wringing, head screaming from the blow. Blood pools beneath his hair and he touches a hand to the wound lightly, raising his head to see the sunset still.
The hit helps, he remembers now what was so important.
Castor is out there somewhere still, lost and alone and afraid.
But it hurts so much.
And music fills his head, that song from the radio and the way Castor felt, tucked safely up against him.
We'll meet again / don't know how / don't know when / but i know we'll meet again some sunny day /
He puts his palms down in the dirt and crawls forward slowly, blood following every sluggish move. Sin move funny, body jolting and bringing fresh pain with every move forward, pulling him down lower until he's dragging himself through the dirt by his fingertips.
Castor would never leave him on purpose, he knows that. Blood smears the dirt beneath him, tearing his stomach open further with every pull but he has to keep moving. He has to find him, has to wrap his arms around him again, has to press his fingers into his wrist for every death.
Because who will tell him otherwise?
Who's going to tell him when Sin doesn't make it?
But he's only a few feet from where he started and he stops, world tilting sideways slowly, sound extinguished first, then light.
Breathing comes slower, beads of sweat dripping down his back from the effort. He's so tired and it's so hot and his head hurts.
It might be okay to rest for a little bit.
He rolls onto his back and stares up at the smoke blooming above his head.
Just for a little bit.
Castor will understand.
Tears form and one slips slowly down his cheek. This is all that he deserves.
Because he knows those, proper ones, the golden and pink hues that splash red across the pavement and brings tears to his eyes. There are things he doesn't know, so many things. Birthday cake, he wants that just once. Yellow and blue bits of confetti on icing that looks silky smooth, he wants one of those one day.
A soft sound spills low from his throat, too low to be heard over the crackling of the fire and as Belle grabs him, Sin watches his seelie leave.
She tugs on his arm and Sin gazes at her hand, then the blood spilling off her. He's done that, bullets tearing through her skin like paper and that was him. He can't remember why, what seemed so important that he had to get to it.
His legs give out a little and he lays back against the tires, gun falling onto the ground at his feet. It's hard to hold onto it, it's so heavy. he can't pull the trigger anymore anyway, he's tried but it only clicks, once then twice. He's out of bullets.
Mmm, and the sun is setting, low it paints the smoke and the fire looks so red in its light and its beautiful.
It's beautiful like stained glass and so is Castor, a fractured poem that he wants to learn how to read one day.
And in the end he doesn't care who Adam is and he doesn't care that Belle wants to go home too and she doesn't care about him either, no matter what words she says to look all pretty for the cameras.
She doesn't have to kill him or she could at least do it nicely but she doesn't.
Her fist connects with his head, wrapped in brass and Sin's vision skips a couple of beats. He doubles over, ears wringing, head screaming from the blow. Blood pools beneath his hair and he touches a hand to the wound lightly, raising his head to see the sunset still.
The hit helps, he remembers now what was so important.
Castor is out there somewhere still, lost and alone and afraid.
But it hurts so much.
And music fills his head, that song from the radio and the way Castor felt, tucked safely up against him.
We'll meet again / don't know how / don't know when / but i know we'll meet again some sunny day /
He puts his palms down in the dirt and crawls forward slowly, blood following every sluggish move. Sin move funny, body jolting and bringing fresh pain with every move forward, pulling him down lower until he's dragging himself through the dirt by his fingertips.
Castor would never leave him on purpose, he knows that. Blood smears the dirt beneath him, tearing his stomach open further with every pull but he has to keep moving. He has to find him, has to wrap his arms around him again, has to press his fingers into his wrist for every death.
Because who will tell him otherwise?
Who's going to tell him when Sin doesn't make it?
But he's only a few feet from where he started and he stops, world tilting sideways slowly, sound extinguished first, then light.
Breathing comes slower, beads of sweat dripping down his back from the effort. He's so tired and it's so hot and his head hurts.
It might be okay to rest for a little bit.
He rolls onto his back and stares up at the smoke blooming above his head.
Just for a little bit.
Castor will understand.
Tears form and one slips slowly down his cheek. This is all that he deserves.
thank-you for reading Sin Mortuus ♥
