08-05-2008, 01:42 PM
[html]
Laruku had never lost his conscience. Even when it seemed like he had, even when he wanted more than anything to be released from it and to go complete crazy, the guilt hung over him like the sky. When the sky fell, he was still surrounded by it; glass pieces stabbed into him when he walked and he could see his reflection in every fragment. When he isolated his thoughts and emotions, when he buried them behind walls and ghosts and monsters, the guilt remained and was his only solace from the taunting laughter. The guilt was his only testament towards sanity and what he felt to be his only salvation. Perhaps it was the sliver of his mother that had yet retained. It was a double-edged sword of course. The guilt would likely kill him someday, if this physical poison did not.
He wanted to thrash out; he wanted to forcibly push Ahren away, but the idea of drawing blood, of reaching out to touch him, of dirtying him, of infesting him, was more terrifying than anything else. The hybrid believed in others in place of himself, and he believed that Ahren would do everything he could to try and save him, out of friendship, perhaps, or out of obligation. Fighting him would only hurt them both. His logic and reasoning faded with every touch -- it was fire -- but so did his strength. He couldn't fight back even if he wanted, so hung limp in the other's grasp, arms like lead. Besides, Ahren, like Gabriel, was heavier and more muscular than he.
Laruku had never lost his conscience. Even when it seemed like he had, even when he wanted more than anything to be released from it and to go complete crazy, the guilt hung over him like the sky. When the sky fell, he was still surrounded by it; glass pieces stabbed into him when he walked and he could see his reflection in every fragment. When he isolated his thoughts and emotions, when he buried them behind walls and ghosts and monsters, the guilt remained and was his only solace from the taunting laughter. The guilt was his only testament towards sanity and what he felt to be his only salvation. Perhaps it was the sliver of his mother that had yet retained. It was a double-edged sword of course. The guilt would likely kill him someday, if this physical poison did not.
He wanted to thrash out; he wanted to forcibly push Ahren away, but the idea of drawing blood, of reaching out to touch him, of dirtying him, of infesting him, was more terrifying than anything else. The hybrid believed in others in place of himself, and he believed that Ahren would do everything he could to try and save him, out of friendship, perhaps, or out of obligation. Fighting him would only hurt them both. His logic and reasoning faded with every touch -- it was fire -- but so did his strength. He couldn't fight back even if he wanted, so hung limp in the other's grasp, arms like lead. Besides, Ahren, like Gabriel, was heavier and more muscular than he.
What can you do?he didn't remember asking.