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a proper goodbye - no more - 11-01-2018
[align=center][div style="max-width: 360px; line-height:120%; font-family: calibri; font-size: 8.5pt; text-align: justify; margin-bottom:5px"] Caught amongst the pathways of a mind left dormant he had been a prisoner. Unpleasant had been the course of days, time trickling past within branching seconds that brought with it nothing, the faint of sound of heart contained in hollow chest all that marked its passage. It mattered not the activity of body, this thing touched in shades of coal and ash permitted brief movement, enough it may appear living, within the voice rose in ragged screams. Strange the sensation of it all, as voice found breaking point and attention fixed upon minimal information the eyes could draw in.
Familiar was it, darkness clouding about edges of earthen tone, almost slipping into the grounds of maroon, shadow upon vision grown weary. Yet less had been the weight of shadow beneath, the draw of skin grown until they seem bruises beneath half-lidded gaze, but so too had been distinct the lack of spark. Almost had they been the eyes of the dead. Almost amusing would such have been, this trifle fact for what was living upon the level of skin proved nothing but rotting decay within, eating at itself in rabid fervor, if only they were not his own eyes. Be it within the churning surface of ocean, waves tipped with bubbling foam in white peaks, or the smooth surface of mirror so easily shattered beneath sudden press, they could not be escaped. Back those eyes stared, dead in their own way though about them life was present, faint the spark buried deep, the sheen of a child screaming to be free.
And that was all he was – a child screaming within throes of anguish, wanting and ever reaching, seeking something not his to have, claiming in hopes it might make it his own. So why was heart bore upon sleeve, the want to assist others within a beat that played only for itself, words of affection caught in a throat grown tight.
Distant is it, the memory of waking. So too is there the traces of collapse, faint words upon lips the last spoken before weight had dragged him down, the rough touch of gravity tugging at muscles grown weary. Young had he been, barely escaped the clutches of a childhood prone to misfortune, and into the world had he trust himself as though it were a silver sword seeking his blood, the life he so jealously guarded. Peaceful had it been – almost, rather, had it been within such a state. Quiet had been the structure of thought given the savage twist of chaotic wind, curling and probing, pushing into each corner of a mind that bore no hope of shutting it all out. Break from it all, pressure of stone upon shoulders that might never bare such if he had been smart. Impulse had been the decision, want for something greater then the minor play of a secondary character in the backdrop of it all, life almost seeming to find him nothing more than a punching bag. And so he had continued to be.
Too young. Stress had built until hardened to it all was the heart in the chest of this child, a stone thing unwelcoming of compassion or warmth, the words finding perch upon tongue sharp, daggers meant to cut away the fat of idiotic talk. There had been no time, never enough to indulge within simple pleasures, nor was there chance to be the child he had robbed himself of. It had been for her – Cleo, the queen of serpents. Sister and friend, one who understood and shared with him peril, the darkness of basement contained in structure unfamiliar and unwelcoming. Warm had she been, though unresponsive to gentle touch upon curve of shoulder or back, seeking chance to take from her comfort. Again had he been such, offering strength the heart was unable to give, drawing from reserves already run dry.
Like the rest of them she had faded away, nothing but traces of memory, a face given basic shape and slight the voice about her, mind weary of carrying something once loved into a time when it held no want for such creature comforts. Yet upon her memory he had held, and so too had Sylvina been there. Grim had been the news of her departure, though nothing so simple had taken her from them. Within the talons of predator had she been swept away, miss guided attempt leading only to destruction and harm, a ghost leaving haunting those few that may find her contained in flimsy memory. And what of the others, those amongst them when they had been nought but bundles of fluff drying beneath the gentle lick of salt tinged air, argued over in voices grown heated. Accident, mistake, one night stand with the added benefit for mother that never cared. Or so she had hoped, a bargaining chip that had lead her nowhere. So too had she faded, though less was the care there, this being that helped give them life and gifted them no more then a second thought. Better was it this way, alone in a world that had grown cold to his presence.
Goldenluxury. Thread of thought broke within the wake of such name, gentle presence curling about temple and forehead, finding root within. Only warmth was within such, in shades of yellow brimming with the playful touch of summer days, of a voice raised in easy joy and laughter, once upon a time. Difficult had it been to find her in such state, the surface of back torn apart until laid bare had been the spinal column, bone broken by savage touch of teeth. Still name proved elusive, this attacker but a ghost within the lives of few, haunting those who had felt the hatred in such wanton acts of violence. There was a certain strength within her, however, a power caught in this girl that seemed lacking in all other. Perfection was difficult to obtain, something none may seemed permitted to grasp though concept encircles the mind, and yet it had been hers. It mattered not the broken structure of her thoughts, the fact she bore no want to look beyond trivial error, but it was apart of her charm in a way. Flawed was she, this wonderful being he was permitted to deem sister, one of a kind amongst a sea of faces, the closest to perfection they may ever get.
And then there was he, the man who bore many names and yet none were welcomed. Within the short expanse of life given to the child he had been deemed only Pincher, or so as far as his thoughts may provide. Strange was the name some deemed him, structure difficult for tongue to find itself wrapping about, wanting nothing to do with such. Deniz. Gentle the twist of lips, exhale of breath marked by the soft express of bitter laughter. No, the name was not one he dared to place to his Captain, to the man he deemed father though never had such a word found his lips. Something within so informal a name pushed it aside, permitted it minimal chance to arise, the weight of it, however, was pleasant as tongue curled about it. “Father...” Huff of breath, the touch of claws to the knife set before him.
Clear was the age of it, days passing it with no amount of care. Wood bound within steel toned in dark shades, black about it until it was all there was. New was the addition of leather, thin the strap wound about handle with loop upon one end, though nothing else had been touched. Press of claw to button, the sound of blade slipping forth and the gentle click of it finding its lock. Here too darkness was present, the metal toned in black though about edges grown weary and dull silver traced delicate lines, cuts in the surface further hinting at the original shade. Easier might it have been to leave it behind, allow him once more to find it, know the son left to him was gone. But something within, gentle the pull as though fingers had worked into mind and drew him back, ever wanting this small shred of what was left, sought to depart with it.
Sepia tones, creases cutting through expressions twisted in looks of anger. So too was the picture which had accompanied it, left as thought discarded, waste upon his bed another had no want for any longer, upon his person. Tucked away within bag cinched about waist it would see not the light, colour faded further until almost the bengals within – matching pair they were, fighters both though only one survived until the end – had become but ghosts. Click once more, claw pressing against the button. Hooking about the blade gentle was the care used to push the blade back down, slotting into space in the handle easily. All that remind of that time, or so one may deem for is not the man himself, this creature that deemed himself Captain and bore the marks of a God walking memory within his own way, when rough had been childhood, within the taste of blood as he had been forced to fight.
Lifted into paw, shifting as though to test the weight of the blade before it was slipped into open satchel. Amongst the other things present it was nestled, few possessions though close to none would leave with him. Difficult had it been to turn unwilling steps here once more, feel the chill of rusted metal as he walked the bridge spanning space between main land and island. Moisture had gathered in the fur about paws and joints, the scrape of scarred metal left reddened over time not quite breaking the calloused skin of the pads, though still could he feel the sting of salt. Only three times had he made such journey, the first one of unpleasant origins. Seeking the man deemed dad, wanting him back from those given the tentative title of friend. Once more chuckle, sound drawn through twisting lips. How they had gained such title was beyond the youth but it was theirs.
Eyes lifted until they found the surface of the gate, open before him as they had always been, heavy to a point it seemed near impossible to shift them. Close at hand the writhing bodies, coated within scales given the shade of ink, moved and shifted about one another in their small enclosure, wicker barely holding the mass of angered reptiles. Their hisses rose yet attention was settled upon the door, the single eye left to him moving over it all, reading names unfamiliar to him, hidden amongst family he had lost.
Nothing but another distraction, a way to prolong the inevitable. There was no hope his time here would last, permitted only brief break for his departure had not been one made without a heart heavy with the acceptance of the inevitable. Beneath the shadow of darkness, the shadowed point of a new moon barely visible amongst clouds that took from them the light of the constellations, he had left them. Simple had been the note pinned to his door, nothing more than words of love towards those that he had begun to recall, the family that was left to him. It had not been a great deal of time since then, when he had dropped by the hut occupied by the one he had deemed co-worker and friend for a time, hesitating in his want to knock, speak with him before leaving. But never had he found the courage for it, leaving with a scowl drawn across dark lips.
Soil and sand, mixture worn down into hard packed path. Familiar was it all, the gentle rustle of leaves about leaving dark ears to flick though ahead attention was settled, never deviating from task set before him. It seemed not to matter what was beyond the shores of the island, within its own little paradise touched by heat born upon humid moisture, the chill of what lay beyond never gracing this place. “Home sweet home,” croaking voice, drawn across throat the ached and throbbed with the sudden words. Difficult was it to gauge how long it had been since last he had needed to speak, rare to pass another within a mood pleasant enough for idle chatter, his own sour towards the idea. Upon the tip of tongue the phrase lingered all the same, want to speak pushing it forth as the packed earth grew fine.
Behind was left the mixture, grains shed as others moved the track, here left only the tan expanse of sand reaching down towards the beach. Disrupted only by snaking paths of cobble it was all as it had been when last he had entered the town, allowed himself brief moment to enjoy it all. About was the hum of life, the chatter of those that had deemed themselves pirates, though strange still was such an idea to the child steadily growing into a man, childish whims better left for those days of youth. Nice was it though, to know the customs were still present and surrounded him as slow pace was picked up, tentative the shape of smile about lips, offered to those who stopped and looked. Some seemed almost familiar for there was distinct the lack of attempt to hide his identity, the murmured words accompanying the widened eyes only further making such speculation seem plausible.
None of it mattered, the time allotted to this task minimal as it was. Passing them all clear was his disinterest in them all, wanting only those few he had left behind, people he had deemed important. Difficult was it to stand before the submarine, the first home he had known though one laced with dislike. Nothing may force him to enter its echoing, chilled halls and so upon the sand by its entrance he left the gift for the man known as Pincher. Simple was it, disk of whale bone carved into likeness of the man himself, skilled the touch for he had grown better at the craft with time and dedication. Besides such was a blade, similar to the obsidian stowed safely within his pack though this was new, the darkness of its colouring unmarred though it bore not black, though almost it edged upon such, but rather a deep shade of blue. Tucked beneath it was a note, handwritten with gentle care, words of affection and love clear upon paper that had been crumbled and smoothed out once more.
Next was the home of Goldie, she who bore no memory but still, within the cracked heart of the youth, was important. For brief moment he contemplated knocking or else simply walking in, never realising her own memory had been tampered with, lost beneath the savage touch of another. Quick was the dismissal of such, and so her own gifts were left upon her porch. Amongst them was the ocarina given the shape of a whale shark, repaired once though chips had been taken from it, scars in the paint speaking of wear, and beneath a note with a song of his own making. Next, suspended upon a golden chain, was a gem within gentle shades of green and blue shaped like a droplet. The last was similar to the massive construct which watched over the beach though not metal was within, shape of the turtle made from blown glass.
Though no less important for his placement within this was Junji, a man that had become almost a father, given him a chance when no other seemed to care such. Upon a sand covered front step was left his, these more personal. Worn was it, better days seen for it had felt the touch of his own small claws and teeth, though still intact, the plush of a polar bear made by Jacob. There was no need for it upon his travels and he had learnt of the pregnancy of the Soothsayer, news of such travelling rather quickly for odd the pair was, better for the young ones they were to have then for him to keep it about. Tucked beneath a small book rested, this filled with poems and stories, tales of all sorts collected from about the world, and within the margins of it small passages of songs.
Nothing was left here for him, this youth once deemed Aita only to choose for himself the name of Silus, ties cut for there had been necessity in such, these parting gifts the last to seen of him. It was upon dark lips a smile found it home as he turned from the beach, walking the path back towards the railroad track, taken with a step that dragged yet seemed light in a way, freed from the weight that had crushed bony shoulders for sometime now. “Goodbye, I'll miss you all... Maybe I'll come back someday.”
[ something i've been wanting to do for a while now, sort of closing the chapter on sil with an actual ending
this is pretty much just thoughts on everything and the fact he left in the dead of night, this visit made so he could give those he felt closest to a few gifts these being pincher, goldie, and junji all left just outside of their homes ]