for Laruku. is today's date okay?
[html]
He watched their chests rise and fall in irregular patterns. Sometimes they would inhale and exhale at the same time. He liked it when that happened; it gave him hope. But then they fell back into panting, or their too-slow heavy breathing of sleep. At least, he hoped it was sleep. Endymion felt overwhelming pity for the two, wished that he could alleviate their pain faster. He couldn't tell if they were better, or if their fevers had gone down. He liked to think so. Yet, in the back of his mind there was the nagging fear that one of them would die, and it would be his fault. Everyone would blame him for it and they would be right. He had to save them.
His heartbeat and breathing accelerated. He couldn't handle this! Could he handle this? It was such a vast responsibility. He felt trapped. Surrounded. He was suffocating under the weight of his anxiety. Taking his head in his hands, Endymion began to rock back and forth in his chair between the men. Each breath felt like he was being stabbed in the chest. A groan escaped his clenched teeth, and then the tears came. They shook his body and dripped to the floor, coming from some unknown well inside him. He was pathetic and ashamed. He felt like running, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and leave them. He couldn't do anything.
[html]
I think that should be fine. :o
The inside of his own head was not a place he would choose to spend his time, if given the chance. A lifetime of metaphors lay there, crushed against one another in ways that no longer made sense, a wasteland where he could not find his way. There used to be a house, and there used to be hallways with doors, the most cliche of them all. There used to be endless fields of flowers set off by a rusted railroad and a train that would not come until he tried to step beyond it. There used to be deep forests covered with fog and ghosts that had long forgotten who they were. He supposed he would be joining them soon. Everything was on fire, that feverish burn that manifested itself in his mental imagery. It was a silent fire, silent destruction.
Laruku opened his eyes at the sound of rocking, wood pressing against wood, an almost steady beat. He saw nothing now, not even an outline in the white haze. What are you so nervous about? the hybrid asked, sounding strangely lucid. He was lying in a bed of flames in an empty world filled with other people's voices. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there, but he knew he was in the company of a stranger. The air in the room smelled like rot and dusty, dried blood, but he could tell that someone alive was there. You shouldn't be here, you know, he continued, This is where people come to die. He wished again that they'd just let him go in peace.
[/html]
VERY sorry for the wait!
[html]
The quiet sobs continued until a strange voice startled the tears right out of him and halted his rocking. The shack felt suddenly small and still. Sweeping a hand over his eyes and hiccupping, Endymion turned to the only creature in the room who could possess the voice: Laruku. Though Jasper was quite loquacious in his sickness, he hadn't heard much from the other, so he didn't know what he sounded like. Perhaps he spoke while the wolf wasn't there, while Corona or Rachias were taking care of him. Never-the-less, he was shocked to hear such a relatively sane series of statements from the hybrid. Was Laruku speaking directly to him or a figure in his dream?
"Laruku?" he whispered, leaning toward the man. The hybrid looked normal. Or rather, normal for his sickness. He wasn't sitting up or starting straight at Endymion, he was just laying there. The wolf was confused and distressed. No one was dying, not yet. Surely he hadn't failed already? The pain in his chest was slowly abating, though he wasn't paying attention to it now. His pale eyes were trained on the tawny man's face, trying to discern something that would give away his lucidity, as if he were expecting Laruku to crack open a red eye and shout, "Just kidding! I'm fit as a fiddle!" and do a jig about the room.
"No one's dying," Endymion replied softly, voicing his chaotic thoughts. He wasn't even sure the hybrid could hear him, he just needed to say it. He wasn't even sure if he believed it, though. He wanted to.
[html]
S'all good.
By then, Laruku was fairly certain that he was not going to die. He wasn't sure he particularly cared, either. Or at least, he didn't at that particular moment. There was no one standing over him in the fog accusing him of things, and there was no one kneeling next to him, telling him that nothing was his fault. In between, he felt little and cared little. Everything was the same. The flames didn't matter and whoever it was beside him was mostly irrelevant. A faceless stranger in the night, someone he may or may not ever see again. Everyone's dying, he replied simply, We're dying since they day we're born. Every day we're one step closer. It was, after all, something inevitable. Even if ghosts continued to exist after that.
You're dying too, he continued, Maybe not from this, but I'm not either. Probably. The hybrid shifted slightly to turn towards the other, though his eyes continued to see nothing.
[/html]
|
