Sightless, Pleading (III)

"Yet… The hardest part in all of this is, I don't think I know my way back home…"

One could swear the cold was its own person: A caress as persistent as a forgotten lover returned chilled the warmest grey to his bones through leather and quilted cloths.

The world continued its screenplay called life as the man stood at the edge of the water, placed on an overcast background a flock of birds went about their way against the colds caress. Aqua drained of its color by the night lapped at scuffed dress shoes.

He wasn't out here by choice, but it was far better than standing in the garden where he could be seen, watched by careful eyes that mirrored everything wrong and broken within his own.

Raised in a cage, taught to slip out when the keeper had turned his back.

Somewhere across the water, the bastard he knew was smiling to some whore he had raised instead of his real child. A child he had abandoned to a man he thought the Devils own blood. A child who's hopes and dreams had rested upon the mans smiles and a mothers promise.

Dreams were only as certain as the snow that dusted his entirety- guaranteed to fade once he stepped inside to wish his uncle goodnight. An uncle he learned to call "Father" when his real one had left him behind, not a letter, not a word was sent.

One other time, he had seen the man.

He was bloodied on the floor, with a gun to his back.

12 years, he'd taken 12 years to come back for the child.

The warmest grey fell to his knees, damned be the chill that seeped through his jeans as he settled in the waters path. Damned be it all as every memory hit him like realization had the day his "Father" declared 12 years was too long, the day it was decided that he was no longer a son to the man who had abandoned him.

"Go to Hell, Just go to Hell!"

He snarled like an animal- eyes that had once been a twin pair now at odds.

The sickening crunch came before anyone could realize it was coming. The moment bloodlines only mattered in that they flowed into the worn carpet and faded beneath red fibers, The warmest hazel dripped venom.

A child stepped back, youth quivered as its world fractured bit by bit.

Every soul in the room went silent. Every soul in the room went still. Every soul in the room wondered just what would occur next. Every soul, save for one. Every soul heard the safety of a gun click off.

"You first, Brother."

Opposing forces of barbarism clashed, the coldest grey stood above their twin pair.

He placed his finger on the worn out trigger.

Tears had frozen on a face turned rosy by the wicked caress of the cold.

He screamed.

The warmest grey screamed to the sky as if it all could be undone, as if every sin could be erased by tears that no longer held innocence. Every smile that flashed in a fever dream became a damned nightmare, every flower and every lullaby was followed by that scene.

What makes a man a Father?

He came back, and yet would not, perhaps could not fight for a child he dared call "Son".

Two sides of barbarism clashed and one could not hope to survive against the cold no matter how furiously he fought. Since then, he had been gone.

Not a letter, not a word. It was just as it had been before- The void between "Father" and "Son" remained silent and cold.

He couldn't feel his fingers, he couldn't feel his face. He didn't know the tears had frozen on his cheeks, he didn't know his fingers slowly lost the color until they turned a deathly pale. He fell into his misery and cried until his fingers turned blue and his sobs went silent from the strain on his throat.

So the warmest grey slowly froze, until he collapsed into the snow and the colorless water.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"…Another nightmare, Edderkop?"

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License