08-15-2018, 01:05 AM
[align=center][div style="width:400px; font-size:8pt;line-height:1.1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"][ replying late to my own thread? of course ]
Too many voices, all coming together into a mass of sound, individual words unable to be picked out, nothing more than static scraping along the inside of their skull. It hurt.
Hitching breath, catching within their throat before it rose once more in sobs, tiny body shaking as they struggled to swallow them, to hide it all away. They weren't meant to cry, to show any sign of weakness but what could one expect of a child driven to exhaustion, barely hanging on by a mere thread as their body tried to shut down, force them to process things within the depths of unconsciousness. Against the encroaching darkness they fought as best they could, trying to ground themself, to focus only on the world about them. And then it was there, the soft glow of the light dancing before their eyes, the gentle weight draped about their back an unfamiliar comfort. The words are lost, swallowed within thoughts which bounce about their skull like ping pong balls, clamouring for their attention, but the gentle tone gets through, the sense of shared experience. Quiet was the sound they murmured into Vi's leg, the ear she brushed flicking in response, everything within the child focused upon keeping themself grounded.
And then he was there.
Why was his the voice to be the clearest, a knife cutting through the static, breaking it apart until his voice was all they could hear, each word only twisting the knife further. So much lingered upon the edge of their tongue, words they wanted to spit at him, curses once so easily flung in the face of others now nothing more than dying embers, fading as they tried to grasp at them, to find their voice. “Why...” It was all Aita could force out, croaking and low, head slowly turning to regard Bastille. “Why.”
Why did you bring us here when you could have taken us back, why did you not see how bad an idea this was, why did you lock us away?
So many questions ran through their mind, and yet none arose to their lips, their gaze steely though tears gathered still, waiting to be shed. Slowly did the child regain control and beneath anger did they hide it all, the pain and fear pushed aside in favour for that fire, so familiar as it pooled within their stomach, forcing each breath to even out, struggling to hold back the tears.
Too many voices, all coming together into a mass of sound, individual words unable to be picked out, nothing more than static scraping along the inside of their skull. It hurt.
Hitching breath, catching within their throat before it rose once more in sobs, tiny body shaking as they struggled to swallow them, to hide it all away. They weren't meant to cry, to show any sign of weakness but what could one expect of a child driven to exhaustion, barely hanging on by a mere thread as their body tried to shut down, force them to process things within the depths of unconsciousness. Against the encroaching darkness they fought as best they could, trying to ground themself, to focus only on the world about them. And then it was there, the soft glow of the light dancing before their eyes, the gentle weight draped about their back an unfamiliar comfort. The words are lost, swallowed within thoughts which bounce about their skull like ping pong balls, clamouring for their attention, but the gentle tone gets through, the sense of shared experience. Quiet was the sound they murmured into Vi's leg, the ear she brushed flicking in response, everything within the child focused upon keeping themself grounded.
And then he was there.
Why was his the voice to be the clearest, a knife cutting through the static, breaking it apart until his voice was all they could hear, each word only twisting the knife further. So much lingered upon the edge of their tongue, words they wanted to spit at him, curses once so easily flung in the face of others now nothing more than dying embers, fading as they tried to grasp at them, to find their voice. “Why...” It was all Aita could force out, croaking and low, head slowly turning to regard Bastille. “Why.”
Why did you bring us here when you could have taken us back, why did you not see how bad an idea this was, why did you lock us away?
So many questions ran through their mind, and yet none arose to their lips, their gaze steely though tears gathered still, waiting to be shed. Slowly did the child regain control and beneath anger did they hide it all, the pain and fear pushed aside in favour for that fire, so familiar as it pooled within their stomach, forcing each breath to even out, struggling to hold back the tears.