heavily inspired by this poem.
𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒇𝒕 𝒘𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇-𝒔𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆.
the decision comes easy to him. there is no hesitation, no second guessing, no pause of reconsideration. it’s not like a final piece of the puzzle, the one that made you breathe a sigh of relief knowing it was over it’s the single piece that makes the puzzle clear, the one that gives you an understanding of the picture you’re trying to form. he knows what he has to do, and in that moment, everything falls into place. the flash has to die. the words echo in his mind, a vicious reminder that on path he travels, there is no happy ending. it was never in the cards; a finish line he could never cross, no matter how far or fast he ran.
𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒂𝒓.
he thinks of the people he leaves behind: oliver, who carried his darkness with him and wore it like armour, whose flame burned the brightest and longest. kara, who held up earth like atlas, who even despite everything thrown her way, continued to carry hope in her heart. cisco, a brother in all aspects but blood, who he would trust with his own life, who he would be honoured to have by his side in a fight. wally, who he leaves with his legacy, and he knows how selfish it is to place such a burden on such young shoulders, to watch him live up to something so much bigger than himself.
he thinks of everyone else; joe, caitlin, ralph, felicity, sara. and so many others. he thinks of the citizens of central city; the ones who looked at him with awe in their eyes, the ones who excitedly shout out his name when he runs by, the ones who fluster around trying to find a pen and paper for an autograph whenever he stopped for a moment. even the ones that look at him with nothing but fear and disgust, knowing that whenever he was, trouble would soon follow. he thinks of the city he grew up in, the buildings that he helped built, the roads he helped clean up after one of the rogues’ rampages.
and finally, he thinks of her.
𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒂 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒕.
iris. her name is enough for a calm to wash over him. it’s a mantra he recites in his head; her name, over and over and over. iris. he sees her smile, hears her laugh even though she is miles away. he thinks of the truths she uncovers and tells the world about, the dangerous leads that she follows ( because she knows he will always be there to catch her ), the way she is as much of a hero as he is.
i’ll come back to you. i promise. the last words he says to her, a promise broken as soon as it’s spoken. after all, rare were the moments where they were allowed the luxuries of fulfilling a promise, and even though he always found his way home to her, he knew this time was different.
i’m sorry. the words he wished he could tell her right now, but he knows the words will get back to her. it will be too late by then, he will be long gone, vanished into thin air, but she will know. she will understand.
𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒚𝒓 𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆.
barry allen has always known that when his time was up, he would greet death like an old friend, so when he feels the power of the speed force pulling him apart, there is no agonising scream, no shouts of pain. it’s a familiar sensation; like a thousand jolts of lightning striking him at once ( how poetic, he thinks; lightning was the thing that started this life of his, and now it is the one that’s ripping him away from it ).
it’s a flash of white and when he opens his eyes, he’s standing in the middle of his childhood bedroom. everything is just as he remembered; every action figure perfectly where he left it, every paint chip visible on the drawers, every mark on the wall as clear as they were the day he decided to draw them on.
standing there, alone and surrounded by all the memories with nothing but silence filling the room, the ache in his heart grows. it aches for a life long gone ( the picture of his smiling parents that sit on his nightstand a painful reminder ) and for a life that has barely started ( a picture of him and iris on their wedding day sits on his desk, the only piece of his life that didn’t fit in with everything else in this room ). it’s at that moment that his resolves crumbles: the tears flow freely, and he crumbles onto the floor, arms wrapped around himself so tightly that one might think he would break apart if he were to let go.
… 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈?
prguitarman
gummygunk
stormborns
areudirty
vaporwave
janainaart
annaxmalina
