(no subject)
He is young, but only in age, eyes upon the sky, he sees it there, hanging already, it's coming, what it is precisely he does not know, not yet, he does not care.
He just wants to be left alone, that's all he has ever wanted, right? It's okay, the anger, the fighting, it's his life, then there is the bar, the friend, he sits there, looking up to what is taking form above his head, the responsibility of it, he can feel it already...but he is young.
He is still young, not a boy, not quite a man, yet wiser than his years, they are by his side, as they always have been.
It is there, no longer just something he sees, something he waits for, eyes upon the sky, see it's true form, how long till it falls, how long till it destroys.
Heat, through his blood, through his nervous system, he is fire, he will burn, they are marked, he has burned them and yet, still they look to him with those expressions.
Ones he can not return, instead his eyes are upon the sky, because what waits there above is his end.
How long?
He doubts in himself, his hands, they are not kind hands, his eyes they are not kind eyes, yet, they are, he just never sees. Instead, they show him, they grow, from two, to three, to four, more come, but why?
He is not special, merely another playing piece, with his eyes upon the sky, it will end and what of them? Will they end with it? Or will he be able to go alone.
Alone...
What he must be, rather by choice or necessity, control, he can not let them be hurt, he must keep control.
Years pass, yet he remains the same, keeping little, but them, even as he remains distant.
He tries to show one, but that one refuses to accept, that one helps him to believe.
There are moments even he can say he's happy, the years, they are good, the life, this one, it is okay.
Yet, still it hangs there, waiting to come down, to impale him, to burn them all.
No Blood, No Bone, No Ash would they all become this because of him?
Control, still it is all he can do, all he must do.
Another call, another moment, the end, he feels it then, the end is here.
Control is gone, a distance memory, buried beneath rage, guilt, grief. These things, they all turn to fire, he must end it.
Protect He hears the voice, meant to protect, but eyes to the sky know, it's too late.
His hands they burn as does the world around him, is fault, his power, his lack of self control.
His grief, his rage, his guilt....
His fault
Eyes fly open, body tense, hands singed, red flesh no longer sensitive to the touch, he has damaged them too many times with these powers. A dream? Was it all just a dream?
He listens, he can hear them, all of them down below in the bar.
A dream....
He rolls to his back, eyes upon the sky and waits.
He just wants to be left alone, that's all he has ever wanted, right? It's okay, the anger, the fighting, it's his life, then there is the bar, the friend, he sits there, looking up to what is taking form above his head, the responsibility of it, he can feel it already...but he is young.
He is still young, not a boy, not quite a man, yet wiser than his years, they are by his side, as they always have been.
It is there, no longer just something he sees, something he waits for, eyes upon the sky, see it's true form, how long till it falls, how long till it destroys.
Heat, through his blood, through his nervous system, he is fire, he will burn, they are marked, he has burned them and yet, still they look to him with those expressions.
Ones he can not return, instead his eyes are upon the sky, because what waits there above is his end.
How long?
He doubts in himself, his hands, they are not kind hands, his eyes they are not kind eyes, yet, they are, he just never sees. Instead, they show him, they grow, from two, to three, to four, more come, but why?
He is not special, merely another playing piece, with his eyes upon the sky, it will end and what of them? Will they end with it? Or will he be able to go alone.
Alone...
What he must be, rather by choice or necessity, control, he can not let them be hurt, he must keep control.
Years pass, yet he remains the same, keeping little, but them, even as he remains distant.
He tries to show one, but that one refuses to accept, that one helps him to believe.
There are moments even he can say he's happy, the years, they are good, the life, this one, it is okay.
Yet, still it hangs there, waiting to come down, to impale him, to burn them all.
No Blood, No Bone, No Ash would they all become this because of him?
Control, still it is all he can do, all he must do.
Another call, another moment, the end, he feels it then, the end is here.
Control is gone, a distance memory, buried beneath rage, guilt, grief. These things, they all turn to fire, he must end it.
Protect He hears the voice, meant to protect, but eyes to the sky know, it's too late.
His hands they burn as does the world around him, is fault, his power, his lack of self control.
His grief, his rage, his guilt....
His fault
Eyes fly open, body tense, hands singed, red flesh no longer sensitive to the touch, he has damaged them too many times with these powers. A dream? Was it all just a dream?
He listens, he can hear them, all of them down below in the bar.
A dream....
He rolls to his back, eyes upon the sky and waits.
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