VINCENT
let death be the deciding factor
Let's give a tribute to trial and tribulation and sing a song that we can all dance to. Imagine a beat that pulses subtly within us, quietly, warmly - we almost know it's there and we feel it vaguely, as we feel the sun that's been shining all our lives. Heavily nuanced, though noticed every day, such a nebulous swirl of vexation. Ambiguous. Veiled. Shadowed by perception. We sit on our ass and watch it go by. A shooting star with dreams in the dust. We watch hope fly away without singing a tune.

Vincent never got the chance to watch hope abandon him, it seemed to just pass over his head while he was searching out terrifying things in the grass.

Vincent rolls a golden eye in the darkness, peering back from where he came, locked somewhere between the murky horizon and naked tree limbs wondering how much time has passed; always remembering his brothers. It's been something like three days without sunlight and the world is ice. If it weren't cold enough to bury damnation, he wouldn't have noticed. Unwavering dusk crept in the very night Vince chased himself back to these familiar grounds and all of a sudden it seems so rash. He wouldn't be able to find his way back through rustling murk if he tried so he struggles onward, feathers catching on frosty arms of dying grass. Helovia has always been the realm where it goes black before something happens and it always unleashes itself right when he forces himself back into the damn place. What an unfortunate misconception. Vincent might not be so scared of the world if only time could dulcify and not be so darkly colored.

He rattled in his gait with dilated eyes always flickering to and fro, mistaking his own steps for prowling creatures and sometimes mistaking prowling creatures for his own tremendous footfalls. He could almost hear someone walking behind him, traveling in time with him. No matter how frequently he glanced back, the tune continued to play in his ears when his eyes were ahead. The tormented soul let his legs grow faster until he was running, full on, sweat bouncing to vaporous froth. He resembled a western steam train barreling down the tracks carrying a full freight of coal and headlight eyes blaring ahead, full speed ahead. Frosty breaths rolled in and out jaggedly, heart jumping between the two lungs, mechanically pushing the blood to his legs. Vincent felt air sting his eyes and tears bathe his cheeks.

Dinner-plate hooves carried him right into the tunnel, footfalls clanking against rock - he jumped at the sound, slamming the hulk of his right side into a glass wall. Few crystals shattered to the floor, sending wild Vincent into the other wall. Deep shocking pain radiated bruises and his legs refused to listen, carrying him in deeper, and deeper still. Finally he commanded heels down to earth, skidding to the last inch of rock before water broke the floor.

He couldn't breathe. Eyes could only dart among waves. One black ear stood up to hear faint rippling echoes of drops tapping against the cavern floors. Drip, drop. They cycled. One powerful splat behind him while another would answer from the farthest reach of the cave. What a song. Still Vincent held his breath, but eyes wandered behind him, neck twisting, pain crawling in his ribs. There was nothing. Whatever it was lost him. Finally nostrils opened and lungs took air like sails in the wind. His head was spinning, heart pouncing as it received oxygen. The last time he was this spent was when Brother Knox sipped his father's life. He vaguely remember this, he always did. It was in constant loop around his mind, subconsciously. Vince looked out over the water once more, silvery ripples projecting calmness, drip drop fading away in his ears. Dizziness claimed him, and the massive draft fell to the floor.