Falls

He was not just a boy any longer.

When the sky had split and the dust had settled in the cove, the waves that washed across a bleeding corpse of blue and white had also risen up to wash away his childhood innocence. Death was a bath best taken cold. It took it’s sweet, frigid fingers to his skin and scrubbed him clean- tracing the puckered lines of the scars, more violent and obtuse than the knicks and cuts often obtained from life.

The snarls and the howls should have haunted him, digging deep into his mind and screaming at him when he slept. Yet they brought him peace. Such aimless hunger sang of tranquility and a simple, base need. He was aching, starving for the cold of Tinuvel. It ravaged his gut and squeezed his lungs, like a vicious python.

He was begging for vengeance.

Pressing up against the girl- as she is just a girl, isn’t she?- he almost feels alive. Like the wind had filled his lungs where there had been a desperation for air, and like food rested in his belly where it ached for blood and retribution. His enemies were faceless, and they stood as peons in the way of his desires. She explores his body, and his skin twitches, an emotionless desperation to shrink away. Even his flesh is sent crawling when she touches him, but he stands fast, feeling the weight of the sky they watch resting on his shoulders.

This is what it must feel like to be helpless.

“Does it matter?” He was no one now- a body with a name and nothing worth holding in his hands. Empty pockets and devoid of a rich history that shaped the souls of this world, he is a beggar. Left with only one dark friend and a valueless seat in a land that was rightfully his. His blood had been spilt there, and his family had been born and died there. Like an endless circle, and he was tying the ends of a little line together. “Anawar.” He relents, as if the name held any meaning here when it is little more than a dark little sound against his equally black lips.