Monday, March 4, 2013

Like we're going to war.

She was beautiful.


Her porcelain skin was fair, and the only remedy of color remained on the tilt of her rounded cheeks. Barely born into the world, she wept with misunderstanding. Violent tears grazed the stretch of her facade, pitiful sobs racketing from the hollow of her withering chest. She nestled perfectly into the crook of his slim arms, her enlarged cranium sitting dutifully in the space collapsed within his elbow, her button nose pressed into his bicep. He held her gingerly, his lithe tendrils lightly grasping her sides in a sudden fear that his touch would somehow harm her. It was ridiculous he knew, but the worry had been imprinted within his thinking pattern, marring him mentally.

Moments prior he had been howling, overcome with the desperate grief of a young man succumbed to violent turbulence. His decrepit, emerald optics had watched as the ivory bird willowed in her sheets. Lost in a flurry of red, drowned in a pit of screams, he had not been by her side when the life force had evaporated from her hopeless carcass. Her chocolate optics, once flooded with such innocent vibrance that none other could match, were drained. Her porcelain skin darkened, and her mind plunged to a place where he could not follow. It was perhaps what scared him the most, pitched his hollowed howls into mournful moans.
Only the creature that emerged from her tethered him back to existence.

He cradled it with more warmth, with a sudden vigor instilled by the loss of a life. He was surrounded by white, the stinging pulse of antiseptic flooding his nostrils until it singed him. They grabbed, tendrils dashing towards him, reaching for the child sheltered within his grip, and he pulled away from them violently, emerald eyes widened with fear. He stumbles backward, losing footing, and he crashes into various, metal tools. He regains himself though, with a panic for the life, and steadies himself uneasily. The fingers have ceased. Instead, guarded optics gaze at him wearily, tired with battle and fatigue. They speak, monotonous tones voweled across the thin space, and he listens reluctantly.

She is dying. The life is dying.

He howls mercifully as they tear her from his tendrils.

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