UNDER THE STEEL SKY LAY TWO HEARTS HELD TOGETHER BY TRAGEDY . a thundering pulse alights under his skin, sending waves of panic up through his veins until they escape into the choked sob he releases into the quiet night air . a moment — and he is back. the tinny drown of static reels him back from the precipice, away from lab coats and cold metal, dry desert air washed out by rain and the blood staining his hands . it lingers in the back of his throat, but moves no further, stuck in the grip of unconsciousness he retreats from .
he rises from the mess of sheets he has created, both by the night's activities and his current turmoil, and inhales what remains of his sanity . beside him lays another, body warm and pleasant, still undisturbed by his outburst and leveling the air with her quiet, even breath .
is this what remains ? once great deeds on the battlefield dwindled into tawdry, pathetic grasps of valor ? [ would you say .... i became a hero ? ] zack fidgets with the reality that the answer to that lies abandoned atop a cliffside, far from view and farther from the home he promised to make . the grimace that resides across his lips shakes his jaw, locked tight between his molars, and strains the muscle of his cheek long enough that the ache that presents comforts him with its familiarity .
there, under the plate and aside the buzz of electricity, falls @sherez' hand across the valley of two shuddering shoulders .
he freezes, confronted with more than just his own humility as the violet gaze pierces the back of his neck . zack knows he may as well be in the most understanding hands he can be — the things they have both seen ... but the rivulets of shame trickling down his throat make any acceptance of that fall short of his own volition . the body winces in quiet response, and tears itself asunder between soul - baring truth and the subtle disguise of self .
" sorry, didn't mean to wake you... " replacing his shaking chin, is a smile that illuminates the empty void of his eyes. they don't meet her gaze, drift down to the pad of sheets that lay across his lap, and burn themselves new views of his shaking surroundings . idealism seems so far from where he last saw it : tucked between leather and steel, in the clash of metal that rang through empty air, eons away from now and the residuals of a " hero " .
there are things he know he cannot change, and still despite, he yearns for the relief of a retribution far away . in another life he could be saved, another life and it is him gone and another remaining. fate's cruelties are enough to cut to the bone — but the damage has already been done for the night. so he rights himself, adjusts, and rises - grip just shy of bruising as he parts from her with a reassuring squeeze .
" i'm gonna get some air. i'll be right back. "
sent from loud and deafening silence .
