Loss like the sharp edges of a knife (1/9)
[A/N: I have no self control and need momentum/encouragement to keep this 10K monstrosity going, so here’s the initial 1100 words of Frank building his after. Title from Clementine von Radics poem, Mouthful of Forevers.]
Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9
The stillness of after is suffocating.
There are nights when he lays awake, listening to the sirens outside of his window, the low hum of the electricity and thinks he might go crazy from it – the silence of a life without a war to fight.
He says as much to Curtis one night, out at some shithole bar somewhere after too many beers.
“Then add some noise into your life, man.”
Frank gives him a wry look, swigs his beer in his hands.
“What, like talk to myself? Sing in the shower?”
“Other than me and the guys in group once a week, who do you talk to? Who do you see?”
“Not really much of a people person, Curtis.”
“Bullshit, Frank.” Curtis shakes his head. “Everyone needs people.” He catches the look on Frank’s face. “Someone more than a guy you have a beer with every other month.”
He scoffs, leaning back against the bar and taking in the scene around him. He can feel Curtis staring at him, waiting for him to say something about the emptiness of his life without a gun in his hands or the rush of vengeance in his blood.
He takes a long drink of his beer instead.
Curtis sighs, taps his fingers against the top of the bar.
“You know what I think, man? I think you’re lonely.”
He wants to scoff, but the word strikes a chord within him and for a moment all he can hear is Karen’s voice, anguished and trembling and more than he deserves.
All I see is this endless, echoing loneliness…
So instead he just looks down at the beer in his hands and blows out a breath that he tells himself isn’t weighed down with longing.
snowghoul
gamechangershow
gummygunk
stormborns
