30 like a stone
Saturday, February 1st, 2014 01:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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evolutionaryWritten: 02/01/14
Title: like a stone
Words: 212
There are bloodstains on his fingertips and echoes in his ears. There are years passing by while he blinks.
He is seven, eleven, twelve, twelve, sixteen, nineteen, twenty. Twenty-one.
He is twenty-one this year, the date days and months away, and he has imagined children of red and white, walking, holding hands.
He had ran for blocks after them, the woman yelling behind him soundless. Meaningless. There are children of red and white, and they are walking away from him.
Still he runs, until his past is blocked by a brick wall. A part of him gives up, acknowledges the reaction as worthless, even as his body pounds on brick and mortar, even as his fist is raised bloody again-- As if to knock, as if he would be let in to their world just by asking.
He is sobbing when she finds him, unabashed, and there are bloodstains on his fingertips and echoes in his ears.
Ah, how much love feels like loss. Desire drowning within despair. Serenity, graceless, circles and spirals to apathy, and he--
He is twenty-one this year, in under thirty days. There is white before him, violet on the fringes, and a part of him would laugh.
The memory cheats, the past is dead, and Nigel is only dragging a corpse.
[30. the memory cheats, the past is dead]
Title: like a stone
Words: 212
There are bloodstains on his fingertips and echoes in his ears. There are years passing by while he blinks.
He is seven, eleven, twelve, twelve, sixteen, nineteen, twenty. Twenty-one.
He is twenty-one this year, the date days and months away, and he has imagined children of red and white, walking, holding hands.
He had ran for blocks after them, the woman yelling behind him soundless. Meaningless. There are children of red and white, and they are walking away from him.
Still he runs, until his past is blocked by a brick wall. A part of him gives up, acknowledges the reaction as worthless, even as his body pounds on brick and mortar, even as his fist is raised bloody again-- As if to knock, as if he would be let in to their world just by asking.
He is sobbing when she finds him, unabashed, and there are bloodstains on his fingertips and echoes in his ears.
Ah, how much love feels like loss. Desire drowning within despair. Serenity, graceless, circles and spirals to apathy, and he--
He is twenty-one this year, in under thirty days. There is white before him, violet on the fringes, and a part of him would laugh.
The memory cheats, the past is dead, and Nigel is only dragging a corpse.
[30. the memory cheats, the past is dead]
