05-30-2022, 01:38 AM
AESIOR OPHELES
✯ — it just sucks to try and explain
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the voices, the voices, they were too loud. he wasn't kept awake for simple reasons, no, he was constantly kept awake by voices to faces that he could no longer give names. there was something repetitive amongst them, a sense of wrongness that burdened his tired body, that kept his eyes wide open even when slumber tried to close them. tonight was no different, laying on the porch of his home, looking up at the swollen moon with a glazed over appearance to his eyes. blinking suddenly, he yawned and stretched out his forepaws, fur ruffling along his spine as an ear-bursting scream echoed in only his ears. none of the living could hear them, the voices of the dead were something he and select others could hear, and it was driving him insane - as it had for years before now. but the dead of the swamp had gravitated towards him, the souls with regrets and worries that they had not been able to assuage, they all came to him. the most haunting part had to be hearing how they died, on constant repeat. it wasn't something that he could easily just escape from, no, it had been haunting him for years.
head turned in the direction of where he'd heard the ghost's scream, tired eyes blinking at the watery outlines of ghosts, his body trembling as he laid his gaze on two kittens of roughly the same size, plants of marigold and dandelions at their paws. he laid there as if frozen before the wind blew and the mirages of the ghosts of his past disappeared like ripples in a pond. taking a deep and shaken breath, shaking his head as he looked up to the sky once again, admiring the setting of the moon and the sparkling of the stars as the moon began it's descent back below the horizon. getting to his paws then, surrounded by the serenade of the life of the swamp, he turned back inside of his house. here, the voices were just as loud but they calmed in just the slightest, allowing him the slow patience to find his satchel in his house amidst the un-lit shadows. there was an odd sense of finality in it, going around the dark house, around items left covered as if the owner was going away for a long time.
the sounds of gentle rummaging could be heard if they were listening, the tom searching for certain items within his home, knocking over a wooden crate filled with assorted items he would usually take for trade. this time though, his departure wasn't as menial a reason as trade, he had a place to go to, a home he had once lived in, the graves of people he had once loved. a life he had lived once, more or less. the ghosts wouldn't leave him alone, they were after him about a manner of things, but most importantly, about things they'd left undone, which reminded him of everything he'd left undone himself, strings untied, relationships not laid to rest, belongings not collected, prayers not spoken. collecting from his meager supply of dried foods, the tom would also grab his notebook and writing supplies before bringing them to his satchel. though his home was prepared for a long time away, he didn't bring all that much with him. now, he would leave his home as the sun began to kiss and caress the horizon, coming to stand on the porch with a weary expression. looking over all of the sleeping settlement, a fondness in his eyes.
stepping down from his porch, he would come to stand near the statues in the town. here, he would wait for the people who he knew would appear, to appear. this was an unannounced leave, he was headed back to the lands of the golden eye, to collect his forgotten belongings and forge, as well as to finally lay to rest the wandering memories and a lost heart of his own making. setting down his notebook, he would scrawl within it a note before walking it to his porch and laying it on the step under a rock; leaving it for those who wouldn't be awake to see him. it merely contained words that he would be away for an unspecified time, and said time would be spent in the land of his origins here. there, he would look to the brightening sky, flicking his tail as he looked around camp. should he head out now and let those from that land follow him? or should he wait?
head turned in the direction of where he'd heard the ghost's scream, tired eyes blinking at the watery outlines of ghosts, his body trembling as he laid his gaze on two kittens of roughly the same size, plants of marigold and dandelions at their paws. he laid there as if frozen before the wind blew and the mirages of the ghosts of his past disappeared like ripples in a pond. taking a deep and shaken breath, shaking his head as he looked up to the sky once again, admiring the setting of the moon and the sparkling of the stars as the moon began it's descent back below the horizon. getting to his paws then, surrounded by the serenade of the life of the swamp, he turned back inside of his house. here, the voices were just as loud but they calmed in just the slightest, allowing him the slow patience to find his satchel in his house amidst the un-lit shadows. there was an odd sense of finality in it, going around the dark house, around items left covered as if the owner was going away for a long time.
the sounds of gentle rummaging could be heard if they were listening, the tom searching for certain items within his home, knocking over a wooden crate filled with assorted items he would usually take for trade. this time though, his departure wasn't as menial a reason as trade, he had a place to go to, a home he had once lived in, the graves of people he had once loved. a life he had lived once, more or less. the ghosts wouldn't leave him alone, they were after him about a manner of things, but most importantly, about things they'd left undone, which reminded him of everything he'd left undone himself, strings untied, relationships not laid to rest, belongings not collected, prayers not spoken. collecting from his meager supply of dried foods, the tom would also grab his notebook and writing supplies before bringing them to his satchel. though his home was prepared for a long time away, he didn't bring all that much with him. now, he would leave his home as the sun began to kiss and caress the horizon, coming to stand on the porch with a weary expression. looking over all of the sleeping settlement, a fondness in his eyes.
stepping down from his porch, he would come to stand near the statues in the town. here, he would wait for the people who he knew would appear, to appear. this was an unannounced leave, he was headed back to the lands of the golden eye, to collect his forgotten belongings and forge, as well as to finally lay to rest the wandering memories and a lost heart of his own making. setting down his notebook, he would scrawl within it a note before walking it to his porch and laying it on the step under a rock; leaving it for those who wouldn't be awake to see him. it merely contained words that he would be away for an unspecified time, and said time would be spent in the land of his origins here. there, he would look to the brightening sky, flicking his tail as he looked around camp. should he head out now and let those from that land follow him? or should he wait?
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THE FLOWER BURNS
