Behind you

My muse has been kidnapped by yours. Send ‘ℑ’ for my muse’s reaction.

Blinking a couple of times as he woke, it took a few moments for Jackson to realise that he wasn’t in an alley or his bed. Quickly making to get up, he groaned and he found his hands restrained, along with his legs. “You better have a good reason for this otherwise I will kill you” Jackson growled at no one in particular.

Psychological torture was something he was well versed in - it was actually something that he had put into practice himself a number of times, but it had been a great many years since it had been used to effectively and so brutally on him. His psyche was already a fragile thing and, even through the haze of his mind, he could feel the stilts that it stood on slowly crumbling; the pillars of sand that held his mind together falling apart at that very moment.

They were standing on the edge of desert. Its eerily vast expanses were painted with bright oranges contrasting so strangely with darkening sky. The storm was coming, cool breeze hitting their, body bringing alongside painful rain of sand particles, clouds rising and coiling and roaring almost if the vault of heaven was about to fall right on their heads. Omen didn’t seem to mind at all, his muscular arms of a soldier clothed in the coverture of a priest embracing friendly radio host with affection. He smelled of a wet soil, tree bark, blood.

“My dearest friend, a lovely Lamb” low rumble of a voice spilled from under the wide brimmed hat. It sounded like the one of a concerned, loving father who didn’t see his child in a long time. “I came back, dear one, and it is a pleasure to see you again!” he chuckled pleasantly and the sky behind him laughed with him, carrying echo for many mile forward. “I’m so sorry I left so urgently, without leaving a note, but sometimes it is better to be gone, then to stay too late unasked” small nod, flash of an empty, white sockets from under the thick shadow. “How are you? How is your family? Please, would you like to drink a cup of tea with me?”

“Of course!” was the broadcaster’s eager response, much too preoccupied with the joys of paths having crossed, of worlds having, impossibly, collided once more, their shared trajectory coupled with the force of their impact causing cosmic ripples along their atmosphere, plunging a population into an era of fear, of uncertainty; then, at the core, there was a mystery. Why the stranger, with the wide brimmed hat and with a voice like rich, dark velvet, had left so abruptly had crossed his mind on more than one instance, the conclusion he always arrived to being that it was, simply, their time, their presence that of a distant thunderstorm, booming, a line of darkened clouds across a stark baby-blue sky, distant, so very, very distant. 

“I’m, well, I’m doing… great! Better than ever, actually,” a toothy grin crept onto his face - had the declaration been the cause, or had it been the realization that yes, yes, this is the happiest he has been? Cecil hadn’t known, and didn’t think to investigate, “I recently celebrated my eight year anniversary with my husband, Carlos. We had my niece, Janice, babysit our son while we went out for a nice, relaxing dinner. Which was then interrupted by the ‘date night special,’ an event that revolves around a game of hide and seek, by which you and your date are the prey, and your waiter is the predator. So, in-between dodging cutlery, half-eaten appetizers, and whatever was being served as the special that night - I didn’t get a good look at it, but it seemed to have been excreting some sort of gel-like substance, and shrieked whenever it came into contact with direct sunlight. So, overall, it was a pretty exciting date night!” 

Oh, what a truly marvelous anniversary it was! A brilliant shade of red dusted the tops of his cheekbones, his hands clasping together, keeping his dreamy head aloft. 

The preacher paused just for a moment, looking almost melancholic, the deep loneliness leaving scar on his face and despite the mark seemed to be hidden under the layer of pale skill, it scorched and burned leaving the priest uneasy. His facade moved to take in the landscape of rising like mountains, clouds. With his gaze everything seemed to stop and just hover. Unchanging. Everlasting. “Oh absolutely, the drink and the story is that what I counted on, My Little Lamb.”

Stolen from: @domuslux

Tagged by @cariicature-of-intimacy

“ i heard you were back in town. ”

“ you’re not nearly as quiet as you believe yourself to be. ”

“ discretion was never as strong a suit for you as your… other, talents. ”

“ when they first said you were back, i thought they were delusional. now i worry that i’m the insane one. ”

“ they tell me you’re the one to go to for… well. my particular problem. ”

“ you were great. are great. but… you could’ve been legendary. ”

“ people are rather interested in making your acquaintance. ”

“ you know the police are still after you, right? ”

“ look at you. smirk and all, like we should be kissing your feet for existing. ”

“ you’ve gained quite the reputation, you know. ”

“ i’ve seen you. in the news… ”

“ is it true? what they say about you? ”

“ i don’t believe any of it. how can one person manage to pull that off? ”

“ i… i thought you’d be taller, for some reason. ”

“ you might tell me how you did it, some day. perhaps over drinks? ”

“ people would give their right arm just to have a chance at talking to you. ”

“ the entire world knows your name. and still, we whisper it. ”

“ you’re both renowned and a complete and utter mystery. ”

“ goodness. all the rumors about you, and you look… nothing like what i was anticipating. ”

“ everyone who’s anyone knows the story about you. but do we know the truth? ”

“ you really should hear some of the rumors about you. comedic gold… ”

My muse has been kidnapped by yours. Send ‘ℑ’ for my muse’s reaction.

Blinking a couple of times as he woke, it took a few moments for Jackson to realise that he wasn’t in an alley or his bed. Quickly making to get up, he groaned and he found his hands restrained, along with his legs. “You better have a good reason for this otherwise I will kill you” Jackson growled at no one in particular.

And then a shiver traveled down his spine. A sickening, unpleasant feeling, because he deeply hated seeing them cry. Tears and snot mixing on skin once perfect, body shivering in pure terror and why? Why was it really? There were things much more difficult to comprehend, much more frightening in their nature. Why are we here? Why is this really happening? Is it real?