#liminibus

“fuel for the fire.”the herald knew fully well the weight behind his  words. a reason to why he was being straight to the point. a simple way of explaining things minus the allure for miscommunication. 

“they serve as all eventually do. the one’s you’ve captured,” he said, sucking in a deep breath, and leaning back in the chair. “are nothing more than footer. a simple means to an end; the weakest link. you may believe you’ve found use for them, but i can assure you… they are worthless. the true believers would rather bite their own tongues than admit a single word to someone like you.”

HIS BROW knits, as he squints at the picture before him. IT’S EERILY familiar yet still foreign to him somehow. He’d encountered this duality in things before. ESPECIALLY when it came to World War II, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. IT JUST SEEMS...

OFF.

HE draws in a quiet breath a hand resting on the photo, fingers careful on the edges as he maintains a focused look at the picture before setting it down and grunting quietly out of DISCONTENT with his own failure.