there is a fire defragmenting the attic

[Laruku Tears]

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The worst part of it all was not being able to see. He was trapped in an empty abyss and at the mercy of his own imagination, which was ever-heavy with years-old guilt and memories of things that should have never happened. Things that had once been confined to drunk stupors and bad dreams had become a constant thing, and the cackling in the deepest reaches of his skull followed him like the fog used to. Denial, as dirty a word as it was, had allowed him to function as a person, even after the blood stained his hands. Denial had pushed everything onto someone else, and denial had allowed him to concentrate on other things. None of that anymore. There was just whiteness, and sin, and guilt. And guilt.



I'm okay, he told her, uncurling from his fetal position slightly. I broke my wrist. Perhaps it was odd for him to be so lucid, but her voice helped him find that denial again, to some extent. It gave him something else to concentrate on aside from the throbbing pain in his head, in his hand, in his chest. Sorry, he said. He shouldn't be her responsibility. Do you believe in God?

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