Air in my lungs, Rotting my lungs

Indie Silent Hill OC Dale Ellroy. Sideblog to thundersflower. Under construction, refer to other blogs for rules!

[rottingdown]

He’s too exhausted to hold onto the anger long. It washes over his face, mingles with confusion, and dies quietly.

“What do you want, Gravedigger.”

[rottingdown]

He looks up, frowning, forehead creased.

“What do you mean?” He says slowly. “Rosten’s dead. You just said that--”

[rottingdown]

“-- they’re saying I..?”

Makes sense, he supposes. Makes more sense than anything that actually--

[rottingdown]

“Skinny, red hair--there’s probably pictures, somewhere. Why d’you keep asking about...” He trails off. There goes that muscle below his eye again.

“She’s still alive, isn’t she.” And then, quieter, like he’s still not quite sure if it’s real or not, “She shot me.”

[rottingdown]

“Nah,” Dale rasps a laugh. “He’d have-- he’d have hated everything about you. Uppity little outsider, thinks he’s gonna learn the truth if he digs us enough holes-- You can’t find those books, then they weren’t meant for you, Gravedigger.”

[rottingdown]

“He didn’t tell you, then he wouldn’t want you to have ‘em, outsider.”

As he snarls, his edges sharpen. Anger’s good, anger’s tangible.

[rottingdown]

He does stare, more out of confusion than anything else.

“They gave those to you? You’re not even...” He sits back, shaking his head. “The hell did you do, Gravedigger? How long’s it--”

He blinks, his outline skittering in the gloom.

“I’m dead. Alice-- how long’ve I--”

[rottingdown]

Dale’s lips pull into a smile that’s all teeth.

“Oh, we don’t do a lot of things, anymore. Did you know we stopped branding people around the turn of the century? How’s your back, Gravedigger? It heal up alright?”

[rottingdown]

“No, no, what good’s a vessel if you kill it as soon as you-- it didn’t take. Figured she’d off herself, ‘s what she was supposed to do. Ran away instead. Watched her go. Hoped she’d stay gone, die anywhere else. Not here.”

His eyes narrow, his brow pinches.

“Why would she come back to--”

[lovey-kun]

“I became bitter and untouchable. I craved affection but even the mere thought of someone caring made my stomach turn.”

— (stay away but come closer) // mxe.

[rottingdown]

“Alice Stephens. Ward, like me. No family, used to-- used to hide in the old apple tree, behind the church.”

A muscle under his eyes works.

“-- Held the rope tight til her face turned blue, but the ritual wouldn’t take. Paul said to keep going, she was dying, wasn’t working, but we kept-- why’d she come back? Why the fuck would she come back after--”

[rottingdown]

“-- which books.” His eyes narrow, his mouth twists. “Father wouldn’t want some outsider’s mitts on any of his... Alice wouldn’t have ‘em anyways. Probably-- probably died in some ditch somewhere. Probably...”

No, no that wasn’t right, was it? The skin over Dale’s forehead warps and flickers, the smell of flowers creeps into the air.

[rottingdown]

“Depends on your definition. Taught me everything I know about the scriptures. Seemed to think there was something real special about Alice, too, til she ran off... Not sure if you’d call that ‘close,’ though...”

The corner of his mouth twists, his eyes narrow.

“Why? He’s dead now, why’s it matter?”

[rottingdown]

“Well as anyone ever did, I guess.”

His eyes can’t seem to focus on one place for too long, his attention keeps-- drifting. To a spot on Toby’s shirt, to a stain on the wall, to dust motes in the dim light.

“Not exactly the most-- touchy feely sort of guy.”

[deadmenstown]

@rottingdown

“Remember me, Ellroy?”

His hairline’s receding at the temples. Specks of dried blood cling to one nostril.

[rottingdown]

It takes him a minute.

“You look like shit, Gravedigger.”

He’s one to talk.

[rottingdown]

😂

“She wouldn’t-- wouldn’t stop crying, when they brought her in. I remember, just-- this little girl, too little to even be real, and they stuck her with me because we were the same age, and she wouldn’t stop crying...”

[rottingdown]

😂

“Gravedigger was never supposed to last. Came out here with his soft hands and his fancy education, acting like he was better than us-- like he understood everything so much better than us. Shoulda-- shoulda seen his face the first time someone handed him a shovel and told him to start digging. You’d think someone just told him to shoot his own willie off. We had to-- had to move the first few bodies he buried, couldn’t even dig a hole right. First serious storm to roll in washed most of the dirt away. How the-- how the hell did someone like that last so long..?”