#mechaccipiter

Hello I’m kobo.

i'm fairly local, i've been around

don't go in there, you'll become one

have you learned nothing at all?

we're only young and naive still

just give me a reason

that girl is fine too, isn’t she?

today we got an encore, encore

and honestly, i’ve been thinking

bad news like a sucker punch, what do you say?

coming in unannounced, drag my nails on the tile

you cease to amaze me

if ive learned anything from this

“H-haha, no way,” he starts, too fast, the light reassurance coming out with a noticeable tremble. He sways a bit in place, the room turning on its side, walls made of bodies. Yves’ shoulder catches him barely, he thinks about hitting the floor. “I don’t… think it’s all my blood…” His mind swims with a dull metal shriek, hazy and lost as though a bullet had blown right by his head. He thinks about bullets, he thinks about blood. There’s white space in his skull where this moment should be, there are the hands again, closing around his eyes, closing around his throat. 

He makes the mistake of looking down. Red, red hands, red pools on the concrete. He nearly trips on one of the motionless forms at his feet, he lets a blood-slicked knife drop, and it clatters sharp next to the body. There’s multiple, and he clings onto Yves’ sleeve to stabilize, his nerves scream. His own injuries are dimmed, far away, under black lakewater.     

“It’s– I don’t know what it looks like, I don’t know if it is or if it isn’t, I can’t fucking remember.” His hands shake, he curls them and uncurls his fingers, feels the blood crack around his knuckles until they stop twitching.  

He pulls away from Yves, stumbling again over the leg of someone that looks like they’ve been gutted. He feels something hot trickling down his forehead and he reaches up for it; the red is everywhere. He can feel it splattered across his face, he can taste it around his molars, he can feel it sticky in his fingernails. It shouldn’t even be an alien sensation, but in this moment he couldn’t feel farther from his body.

 “H-hey, man. Did I… do this?” His eyes flash worry at Yves, he feels like a child, he knows the answer. Of course you did this, this is all you do.  He looks for signs of injury on the other, and his heart stammers violently. His teeth work around something to say, his jaw feels like rust when he takes a quick step back, eyes never leaving his friend.

“Yves. Did I hurt you?” 

Yves is silent for a long moment, their normally stoic expression flickering with something unreadable. He realizes he’s a situation that requires thought to solve.

Did you delete your posts because you were embarrassed or is it something else?

Well it would stop you from calling people “twinks” I suppose.

You should probably go to sleep.