Post by LIAM SUMMERS on Sept 24, 2016 11:19:35 GMT
| cold. he feels it in the air, in each breath he takes and each he exhales. the puff of white that hangs in the air, lingers before falling clashes with the dark brown of wood, walls doing little to provide warmth or comfort. he coughs, whimpers when he shifts onto his side. he claws at the sheets that have been stained red, fingers tear away at cloth as he balls them into a fist. he shivers even under the cover of a blanket that does little to warm. a hand raises to weakly brush past his nose. he can't feel it, can't feel the tip of his nose, can't feel the back of his hand; everything feels numb. it was a damp sunday morning; no birds chirped, no crickets sang, the sole sound that filled the place was the sound of rain hitting the pavement. his head remained hidden under a hood, eyes fixed on the floor beneath him as he walked. he should have seen her coming, should have stepped out of the way. but he didn't. shoulders clashed, words were exchanged, and a battle, no, a beating commenced. it ended on a good note, contact information were exchanged and a date was set. he wonders; one step to the side, one glance up, one little minuscule detail and everything could have been different. he'd still have his milotic, still be in galactic, and still be the bright, peaceful boy he once was. more importantly he would not be broken. it shows with the scars that taints his body; the huge gash that runs across his chest, the damaged shin of his left leg, the bullet wound on his right leg and on the side of his neck, the psycho cut to his left shoulder. all of them though excruciatingly painful could not level the amount of emotional pain he's experienced; betrayal, heartbreak, pity, loneliness. all of this could have been so easily avoided. so easily. but there's no changing the past, he knows that, accepts it as events and changes that make him who he is today; a broken shell of a man, of what once was. |
