02-24-2020, 07:07 AM
[align=center]
She was gone.
It was over.
The boy glared at dust-coated floorboards, the porch scarcely used beyond a couple of dragging pawprints. He swallowed thickly, teeth clenching as he debated how to proceed. Yet no matter how many deep breaths he forced into water-logged lungs, how many reassurances he repeated in his mind, he could not stop his freezing blood from rising to his face, chilling further as upset worked through his apparition.
She was his first real friend in Tanglewood, bonded in torturous hell through pained shrieks and weighted chains, through fire-starting cigarettes and nicotine campfires. She was gone. She left him.
Why?
No answer ever arrived. Sickening dread twisted his guts like balloon animals; his skin burned with the cold realization that he was an utter fool. Before Beck could stop himself, globs of oily tears slid down his cheeks, painting over freckles and fur with dark trails of despair as he sniffled pitifully. A bandage-wrapped paw swiped beneath an eye, the old one torn free from his socket by his own claws just for her, only for Beck to glance down at the pitch-black stain dying the gauze and recoil. No... no, he couldn't fall apart now! Not with Moth expecting Selby's precious spawn, not with the forced optimism and amiability he presented. He was supposed to be getting better, not worse! It would all be ruined if anyone saw him like this!
His rasped breathing quickened and hitched, his bony shoulders hunched and shook. Emotion trumped the frantic rush of thoughts through his skull. Soon the first of many wrenched sobs escaped his shallow chest, his paws hugging his frame in search of useless comfort. Black blood -- no, tears splattered the porch, seeping into the wood grain to forever remain. The little ghost slumped inward on himself, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a sniveling ball and let the world run itself into the ground without him. Legs folded beneath him as he lost the will to stand. His head rested on the deck as he sobbed, the force wracking his scrawny body, straining lungs until he wheezed and gasped.
Beck collapsed onto his side, his childish tantrum swelling into bitter weeping. Was this the thanks he got? For sacrificing himself to rescue her, for gifting his eye so she could see fully again, for tying the tourniquet around her hip, for letting her burn down his house with a stray cigarette and never once confronting her? He doubted she even liked him. No, she used him just like everyone else! And he went along with it, desperate for any companionship or recognition not in the form of scolding. He trembled miserably, his corrupted tears soaking dark into his skin and wood as though blood and not grief had been spilled.
At least he had Selby to trust. Nobody else deserved his friendship, his battered invitation to see the weak husk of a child beyond his scarred facade, to his affection and concern. But he doubted he could even follow his wavering laws. Pathetic, so pathetic.
And so Beck lay lifelessly on the abandoned porch, eyes squeezed shut as he willed the damning tears to cease and as others approached. Footfalls announced an onlooker. He refused to look at whoever it was. His voice hoarse and quivering, he managed to mumble through his sobs, "Sh-she's go-one."
He never even liked her in the first place.
It was over.
The boy glared at dust-coated floorboards, the porch scarcely used beyond a couple of dragging pawprints. He swallowed thickly, teeth clenching as he debated how to proceed. Yet no matter how many deep breaths he forced into water-logged lungs, how many reassurances he repeated in his mind, he could not stop his freezing blood from rising to his face, chilling further as upset worked through his apparition.
She was his first real friend in Tanglewood, bonded in torturous hell through pained shrieks and weighted chains, through fire-starting cigarettes and nicotine campfires. She was gone. She left him.
Why?
No answer ever arrived. Sickening dread twisted his guts like balloon animals; his skin burned with the cold realization that he was an utter fool. Before Beck could stop himself, globs of oily tears slid down his cheeks, painting over freckles and fur with dark trails of despair as he sniffled pitifully. A bandage-wrapped paw swiped beneath an eye, the old one torn free from his socket by his own claws just for her, only for Beck to glance down at the pitch-black stain dying the gauze and recoil. No... no, he couldn't fall apart now! Not with Moth expecting Selby's precious spawn, not with the forced optimism and amiability he presented. He was supposed to be getting better, not worse! It would all be ruined if anyone saw him like this!
His rasped breathing quickened and hitched, his bony shoulders hunched and shook. Emotion trumped the frantic rush of thoughts through his skull. Soon the first of many wrenched sobs escaped his shallow chest, his paws hugging his frame in search of useless comfort. Black blood -- no, tears splattered the porch, seeping into the wood grain to forever remain. The little ghost slumped inward on himself, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a sniveling ball and let the world run itself into the ground without him. Legs folded beneath him as he lost the will to stand. His head rested on the deck as he sobbed, the force wracking his scrawny body, straining lungs until he wheezed and gasped.
Beck collapsed onto his side, his childish tantrum swelling into bitter weeping. Was this the thanks he got? For sacrificing himself to rescue her, for gifting his eye so she could see fully again, for tying the tourniquet around her hip, for letting her burn down his house with a stray cigarette and never once confronting her? He doubted she even liked him. No, she used him just like everyone else! And he went along with it, desperate for any companionship or recognition not in the form of scolding. He trembled miserably, his corrupted tears soaking dark into his skin and wood as though blood and not grief had been spilled.
At least he had Selby to trust. Nobody else deserved his friendship, his battered invitation to see the weak husk of a child beyond his scarred facade, to his affection and concern. But he doubted he could even follow his wavering laws. Pathetic, so pathetic.
And so Beck lay lifelessly on the abandoned porch, eyes squeezed shut as he willed the damning tears to cease and as others approached. Footfalls announced an onlooker. He refused to look at whoever it was. His voice hoarse and quivering, he managed to mumble through his sobs, "Sh-she's go-one."
He never even liked her in the first place.