#solstice oc

It continues to trudge through the room, until the familiar feeling of moisture hits it. Misting. He makes his way to the tallies in the corner, adding a line and counting them on his fingers again. One set and the pointer, middle, ring, and pinky finger. Almost two whole sets. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

Solstice holds back a worried cry, biting its tongue. It hurts to do so, but Solstice soon realizes it’s a new sensation and welcomes it. Leaning back against the wall, it bites its tongue over and over – and hard – until it’s tender and sore, running it against the roof of his mouth and teeth. It hurts, yet he can’t help but do it anyway. He doesn’t understand why he would want to hurt. Its own behavior is indecipherable to itself.

The cool droplets of water from the mist roll down his back, and he finds himself tearing up. It just doesn’t understand. Where is everyone? There’s only so much it can do while waiting for them–!

It paces around the room again for half a set, until suddenly, it sits on the ground, back against the wall. It digs its fingers into the soil, raking it up, ripping out fistfuls of it. With nothing growing within it, it’s easy to do so; it crumbles in Solstice's hands, crumbs of it falling to the ground.

He lets the dirt fall out of his fingers, uncurling them. Then, with a newfound fury, it shoves its hands back into the ground. Something deep inside of him awakens, twisting and writhing, and it pours out from his palms, burning. Something creaks from beneath the dirt, penetrating the surface, wooden, gnarled. Solstice pushes himself further, urging the energy into the ground and into his creation, making it grow larger until finally, in front of him stands a thin, crooked sapling.

For a second, time is frozen, and he stares in awe, his hands still buried in the dirt, his body fixed in place. Then he reaches for the trunk, caressing it, feeling the grooves of the wood under his fingers. In that moment, it feels an almost motherly connection to it, forgetting about being lonely, forgetting about the scientists, forgetting about everything.

Then it begins to decay.

Frantic, Solstice holds on to it, trying to summon up the energy once more, having only known his power for a fleeting moment. He fails and the sapling crumbles into the earth, dying until there’s nothing left but the rotten, petrified remnants of its leaves and branches.

He is unmoving again.

He lets out a tiny sob, and with a shaking hand, reaches for one of the blackened branches. Then he raises his hand with the branch in it and slams it down on his leg, stabbing himself. He does it over and over until he’s numb to the feeling, shuddering with silent sobs as he does. Once it’s done, it drops the piece of wood, betrayed by its own feelings and actions. It brings a hand to its thigh, rubbing the raw skin gently, its touch feather-light.