𝘼 𝘽𝙍𝙊𝙆𝙀𝙉 𝙈𝙄𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙍, a whisper , ⠀some foreign tongue pinching his skin ⠀. ⠀it’s his face staring back ⠀. ⠀they are playing ⠀( in ⠀the ⠀𝑀 UD ) ⠀at being soldiers ⠀, ⠀until it’s no longer make believe . tobacco still sticks to his skin ⠀, ⠀like a fleeting echo and he swore he’d give it up once the trenches were past ⠀, ⠀ but god ⠀, ⠀his lungs long to feel that tainted air .
they ⠀⠀are not his children
⠀⠀❛ ⠀⠀𝖮’ 𝖢𝖴𝖱𝖨𝖮𝖲𝖨𝖳𝖸 , 𝖫𝖨𝖪𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖱𝖲 . 𝖡𝖴𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖴𝖯 𝖨𝖭 𝖠 𝖯𝖤𝖳𝖳𝖨𝖢𝖮𝖠𝖳 𝖮𝖥 ⠀⠀𝖢𝖮𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖱𝖲. 𝖳𝖨𝖫𝖫 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖯𝖤𝖳𝖠𝖫𝖲 𝖥𝖠𝖫𝖫.⠀⠀ ❜
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀little ⠀⠀⠀boy ⠀⠀⠀wonder ⠀⠀⠀( 𝖊 𝖕 ! )
𝖗 o s e s ⠀, ⠀ their deep red blemish ⠀, ⠀ sometimes he found them amongst the snow ⠀. ⠀. the first blush of colour ⠀– ⠀ not 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 spilling in soft drops to meet the white ⠀– ⠀ liquid blue battling the sky and grey ⠀, ⠀as the clouds merge like cotton in a storm.
they were hard to pick with their army of thorns ⠀, ⠀ its own plague of decorated medals, each more treacherous than the next ⠀, ⠀ edmund knew . ⠀ and just like nails ⠀, ⠀ over and over till red lines grate against his skin beneath the itching cuffs of his shirt ⠀. ⠀𝗝𝗨𝗦𝗧 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 singular, repetitive motion, his eyes search for the red amongst the fields of white.
the house ⠀– ⠀ even that , crumbling at the edges they cannot see . old brickwork ( 𝐼 t will not stand, not now , not ever , can you not see those beating winds of anger ?) , mould in the attic with the fold down stairs and the looming threat of smacking your head on the ridge ⠀. ⠀ the house too . . in its own absent field and , ⠀ ‘ oh if that were true you’d never see your friends now, would you?” their mother laughs . edmund wonders ,
so strange
friend ⠀, ⠀ a 𝖽͟𝖾͟𝗋͟𝗂͟𝗌͟𝗂͟𝗏͟𝖾͟ 𝗌͟𝗇͟𝗈͟𝗋͟𝗍͟
but he moves away from the window, the glass and its make-believe painting of ⠀( ‘ what is narnia ? ’ ) ⠀like a shadow he leans against the wall ⠀, ⠀a father not yet home from the war ⠀, ⠀ strung on wounds not yet healed and their stitches drawing his shoulders straight and sharp like a ⠀⠀ toy soldier
⠀⠀puppet ⠀⠀whisperer
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀❛ ⠀⠀E VEN ⠀⠀A ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀T RAITOR ⠀⠀❜
edmund wonders
like some detached memory ⠀, ⠀ his tongue running over his lips ⠀, ⠀ if those blue eyes knew what they were seeing ⠀. ⠀𝑙 akes , ⠀ absently drifting and a slow tug of air as if there was a rollup perched between his lips ⠀. ⠀ a lump catches in his throat .
a familiar look ⠀, ⠀ and his brother ( 𝑚 - agnificent 𝑜 ‘ ne ) looms as if on command to his thoughts ⠀, ⠀ half a smile that doesn’t quite reach the stains of mud from their battle worn flesh and bones.
dad ⠀. ⠀ it always falls short of an utterance ⠀. ⠀ and they leave ⠀, ⠀ his shoes biting on the floor ⠀, ⠀ the silence blessed to the winding eyes that drill into the space between his shoulder blades ⠀ 𝑒 dmund knows he’s watching ⠀. ⠀ almost a whisper ⠀, ⠀ half parted lips, ready, ready to
⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀. ⠀⠀ .⠀⠀nothing .
the door falls shut
sometimes he regrets not looking back ⠀. ⠀ but there will always be other days to fight this war ⠀. ⠀ 𝖧𝖴𝖭𝖣𝖱𝖤𝖣𝖲 of other days left now ⠀-- ⠀ an eternity to conquer these fleeting moments ⠀⠀an e ternity to dream of what’s better ⠀⠀than this ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀UNFAMILIAR ⠀⠀⠀⠀HOME .
