Disclaimer: Ain't mine. Neither is good grammar.
Warnings: DARK GRAPHIC ANGST. ficlet
Note: I know with the recent tragedy angst is not well received. But we
are all fighting our own battles, worn though that line may be. This is
my way of fighting mine. Instead of venting in detail, I'll just post.
From the moment you walked in the door, that very second I first met your
gaze, I knew.
You've done it again, the third time this week.
I've never seen the blade in your hand, the blood flowing from open wounds.
I've never seen you slowly bind your own handiwork, mending as if it were
a cut, an accident nothing more.
You won't let me see that. Why it is so important to protect me, I cannot
I consider the sights I have seen more brutal, though, more like watching
you perish over and over.
Nothing compares to the anguish this has caused us both.
Which will shatter a child faster?
Seeing their own death?
Or that of one they love?
I've never seen that knife in your hand, scarlet has never touched my
But I see the light die.
And I see the energy flee to its haven in the sun, where it may flicker
I see your death.
I knew you've done it again.
The way you sit on the couch and stare at that blinking box as if it means
something, as if there might be an answer somewhere, tells me.
The way all my loyalty, silent though it might be, seems to pass through
as though you were a specter.
The scars are fresh on your skin, lash marks not made from whips, vermillion
lines painted by some deranged toddler.
You say nothing.
You will not speak, nor will I. Words have left this place, had left us.
Or maybe, they have not left me yet.
You have done it again, I knew.
I accused you many of times of hurting yourself.
Maybe tonight I'll tell you how it hurts me.
Selfish, I am.
Will you make my pain stop? Can we end our misery?
I see the marks. I see them on myself.
But tonight, maybe I'll glimpse upon something else.
If you will just talk to me.
[back to Lyssira's fic]