Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β he was naught but a storyteller; Β Β epics relived in his MIND, tragedies to play over each act and with tears to follow the audience would CLAP, cheer for the anguish their protagonist had felt, cry the way their LEAD had once done, holding their hearts on their sleeve whilst actors took their masks down and bowed to their spectators. Β Β ( his was but a different kind of story. ) Β Β he stuttered; Β Β lost at WORDS and trying to find the ways to show it. he paused; Β Β inhaling DEEP memories that left him scarred and frightened of the dark that held their monsters. he breaths; Β Β Β as to not forget the way his lungs would fill with air and try to RELAX. Β Β a storyteller would never live his TALES, but he would know the way their heroes would cry, just as he had done.Β
ββΒ ββ Β HOW COULD HE LIVE LIKE THAT?Β
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β every recollection was but a knife in his chest, SMOOTH SLITS across his skin where scars were born that decorated flesh once so pure. Β Β UNTAINTED by the violence that he kissed him, loved him, and never left him. a love that took what it wanted and never gave back. his fingers could only graze over plastic limb where the ghost of an ARM had once been, his feelings scratching, preachingΒ for a pain he had longed for. Β Β he would soon stop, breath hitched in his CHEST when the words could no longer push through his lips and their consequences would play in his mind like GAMES when eyes closed. Β Β ( he never wanted to close his eyes. ) Β Β the gaze of a man who had seen too much BLENDED with the fear of reliving it over and over again was naught but terrifying through the eyes of those who knew no terror.
Β HE HATED THIS.
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β but then heβd carry on Β Β β Β Β smile radiant along his lips that spoke no VIRTUE, tainted with his trauma that he had hoped to never bring. Β Β ( did this mean he trusted her? ) Β Β a look of sympathy to cross his sight and Β Β Β β Β Β `o, he hoped she wouldnβt pity him. it wasnβt a beg for COMPASSION but a plea for reassurance. Β Β Β to what? Β Β not even he could answer. he would simply look at her, benign features to soften from the severity from the words once spoken through the same mouth, and pray that QUESTIONS would be avoided until his heart-rate slowed down and his blood would soon warm.Β
@relodae
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β she remembers the ambush. the sounds of her communications link crackling with static in her ear as her sister calls out for her, telling her to run. telling her sheβll be there. she remembers the way her throat burned from the smoke, and from her hoarse screaming, desperately on deaf ears for the faintest signal that she would forgo the foolish mission and come back to her. she remembers the way the fire licked at her feet, and pain shooting behind her eyes as she barely managed to escape with broken ribs, and deep gashes in her legs that nearly became cause for amputation. she remembers her comrades β her friendsβ bodies strewn about the crumbling base, knowing when itβs safe that theyβd come back for them.Β she remembers it all.
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β there are too many apologies on her tongue, too many memories embedded into brain ----- too many and too much of everything that pulls at her heart and makes the pain feel fresh in the wound again. the feeling of a heart beating in her chest, and the odd sensation brought upon her when she thinks about it, every time it raced when a deafening bomb sounded off, and for every cursed moment she watched a newfound friend slip away through her fingers.
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β in her dreams, when they did not plague her with ash and fire, she friends cradling her in their arms, reliving those fleeting happy moments. but as the days go by, she wills herself into a bleak sleep, one with neither nightmares nor sweet dreams, but rather, of a total blackness. a void. nothingness.Β
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β she reaches to him, carefully grasping his own hand ( a whisper of a touch, but there nonetheless ), for she knows not his reaction if she took the other within hers. with eyes closed, she tightens her grip for but a single moment, her simple action speaking more than her untrustworthy voice can. with utmost care does she speak, slowly, cautiously.Β
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β ` i was . . . how do you say it ? given up -- ? for adoption days after i was born, but my parents were good people. they just couldnβt afford keeping me, and within a few months, i was adopted. but, ah, my adoptiveΒ βfamilyβ never cared, only wanted to have a prize, not a child. i ran away as soon as i could, and i did some things in my past iβm not too proud of, but i joined the military soon after . . . Β βΒ though her gaze seems to meet his, itβs unfocused. Β ` i lost someone i called myΒ sister in the war β she . . . she was announced to be M.I.A., andΒ thereβs been no sign of her for the past year and a half. Β β her voice is soft, deceivingly so with the sting of memories brought forth like a tidal wave. ` i was the only survivor asides from two others out of twelve soldiers from the mission. but they, well. theyβre not here with us anymore. Β β a clearing of the throat, and she labors on to continue her own story.
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β ` Β shiro βΒ Β β Β she begins, with little hesitation, feeling the coldness in his fingertips, and the sorrow pulls her words from the throat, and into the shared air between two wary souls. ` shiro. β she repeats his name, but this time, itβs far more steady, cemented in meaning, and an anchor for her. Β ` you -- you donβt have to be alone anymore.Β β let me be here for you, she wants to say. she withholds apologies, as they can do no healing to the scars the past has riddled them with. instead, she bows her head to shield her watering eyes from him, one hand holding his as if it were a lifeline, the other fruitlessly wiping away the tears from freckled cheeks.















