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“He was just gone.” There is a moment of relief that it was just death, the inevitable end looming for us all, but the very few who learned to grapple and scale the height of such a barrier; glad that no one but my brother’s father is dead, or maimed, anymore than such a loss hurts anyone to suffer it. It’s only a temporary respite, however, the dark waters again rushing in to replace what had been pushed back, the slow spiral of guilt, and sorrow ebbing within me. It does not sound painful, at least, like the end of my father surely must have been; one does not usually “just go” in a pool of their own blood. No, Deimos had been worthy of an honorable death, noble, his being whole, and perfect, to be remembered forever as he had always been in life, merely still, a statue of himself. Erebos’ good heart had earned him no such troublesome memories as the gaping flesh of a loved one’s throat, or the precise smell of their blood, feeding the earth. He did not have to carry the burden of the Reaper’s cold, condemning stare into the ever more… because he had not earned the punishment. I don’t bother to hold my head up anymore, the weight of everything physically pulling me down, gravity a nuisance that pleads with me to lie down, and not get back up. I go back to staring at the sentinels; I forget to answer Erebos. I forget, really, that I am real at all, anything more than these regrets and inner hollows, until he speaks again. I feel so empty when I meet his eyes, though I want to feel something, anything. "I never know," I say, because I don’t, not about where I am going, where I want to be, who I am, what the fuck I’m going to make of myself; though I mean more that I can’t promise that I’m staying… "but… I would like to." I think. I mean, how should I know? I can barely keep my thoughts straight, and Duir and I’s daily necessities cared for.  |
@Erebos
