I tried carrying the weight of the world

but I only have two hands

POSTED: Fri Jul 12, 2019 1:44 am

я буду звездой

There was no sleeping for him, not when the Most Important thing loomed so close, a shadow over his bed that kept his eyes wide awake. The novelty of having his very own hands had still yet to wear thin, Temnota shifted onto his side, clutching the edge of the pelt in his fingers, softly stroking the downy fur.

The weight of all those rocks in his stomach, wrapped about his neck, they were crushing and after a while his breaths came fast and shallow and shaky

Unwilling to wake his family, Temnota slipped out and away, with the wooden sword he'd borrowed from the armory. There was a little place that was clear and free where he could practice. The clear star-filled sky was his only companion, a great big moon shining down on him. Temnota breathed quickly, with thin breaths taken, hands curled into fists at his sides.

In his hand, the sword felt all wrong. No matter which way he gripped it, it didn't fit, or settle properly like бабушка said. So he tried a two-handed grip again, and that felt even Wronger. Temnota choked back his own tears, stubbornly not allowing them to fall. He couldn't cry, not when the good Kings of the past looked down at him from their starry paradise, imagine how they'd think of him!

It had to be this though, it had to! He was resolute, even as he suffocated in his own despair. Still, he plunged on, turning and hacking at invisible opponents with nothing of finesse or style, with no sense of true swordsmanship. It was no good, he knew he was no good, and they had tried to teach him, and he was letting them all down.

Until he was huffing and his chest heaving did he keep going, until he had to stop to cough and drag in lungfuls of air.

Wide, hetero-chromatic eyes looked up at the night's sky, and could no longer help their watering. Their faces were a reel in his mind, and he could picture each disappointed face, every frown as it was set upon himself. Tem's sobs were quiet, simple things, a child lost in the traversal of an adult world for the first time.

Mama, are you up there? I need your help, please.. I can't do this. Give me something, anything, a sign? Please.

If his Mama really was there, she didn't answer him now, no more than she had answered him any of the other times in the past. The sword hung limply in his fingers. He rubbed at his face with the other, angrily brushing away the tears. They wouldn't help him either.

Tomorrow was his First Blood, and Temnota knew without a doubt that he was going to fail.

Dated late Aug | [wc — 300] template by hilli
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