[html] PROZACSnovember 5th. 
PROZACSSometimes the one-eyed wolf still felt crazy. It was probably something that never left, wasn't it? You never got over mental illness. It maybe went away for a bit. His mind was still a labyrinth, a universe of lies and memories and thoughts and strange castles built in the sky and in the ocean, in both at once. It was a hissing boiling pot of acid and saltwater, doorways leading up and down to chained-up rooms and locked places he tried not to visit anymore. Places his physical down had never stood in, his physical eyes eye had never looked upon. But god, they were real, at times in his life more real than anything else he'd ever felt, touched, seen. Then again, there was that one thing that had always been so real. So fabricated, so invented, so imagined, but so real.
PROZACSLayers of emotion defined the son of Rashmi; he had depth like few others. He was an ocean unto himself, and some parts of that ocean could drive him near insanity. The water never really went away, it was simply recycled, reused a million times until it all meshed together and he felt like he couldn't distinguish any one part of it from any other. It made him feel like his old self. Muddled. Angry. Alone. But the ocean was deep and the bottom of it, the very floor, was much undisturbed, left to its own machines. Few things made him dive down there; few things made him want to. He was there right now.
PROZACSSometimes he felt he was meant to be crazy. He was fighting a losing war, but he fought it anyway, because that was what Nirupama Tsunami did -- he fought. Like a tortured soldier, he screamed and thrashed. Like the monster in his head that he thought he had tamed long ago. The old graveyard in his head was alive again, and the ghostwatcher felt as if he was walking right into it. Why? Because Laruku was there. Laruku dwelled on the bottom of the ocean with the things he held closest to his heart. Tsunami's heart never really changed, it simply got bigger as he shoved more and more inside it; taking away was something he couldn't do. And it was real, that once upon a time had been so fucking real.
PROZACSThe futility of it made him laugh. Alas, he could wait no longer. Mischa was wriggling with glee.
PROZACSClouded Tears, like Storm, had once been called home, but it had never been as precious. The nostalgic gray bastard-child never forgot the sappy stuff, and the lady never let him forget that he didn't. But he was too fucking old for this bullshit. It was about time things changed, wasn't it? sunshine, lover, my little ray of golden light... He knew now that nothing would ever change on his own whimsy except for him, and what a fucking slog through acrid swampwater that was. What was he doing? why, dear, you're going to kill loverboy. The one with the beautiful red eyes. oh, you killed your first lover, baby, why not your second? He had made a promise, and come hell or high water, he did what he said. His was a man's word, no handshake or signature required. Oath-bound, he believed in honour. He believed. She smiled. shhh... Fuck.
PROZACSAnd there it was, the misty lands of the former Omega's pack. Former Altester, too. He felt like he'd done everything, and it made him grin a sadistic grin, the kind that rarely graced his face anymore. It went away fast. His mind was in a whirl and it almost hurt physically. Times like this, he forgot where the world was. Behind the creature that reared and shrieked and clashed against its breaking chains, Tsunami thought of Ire and of Phasma, and of the days, few and far between, when he and Laruku had been happy. Days that were gone, and still others he'd never get back. He sat down and, somehow, looked peaceful. Scars, torn-up eye the hybrid scum found you after that fight, didn't he? do you still love him? and all, and he still looked peaceful. The image belied the chaos on the insides of his skull. The sun was rising behind him. His shadow was the only thing that made him feel real.
PROZACSyou promised, sunshine. He had promised her nothing.
PROZACSscream some more for me.
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