THE ATAVISTIC FLAVOUR OF GUILT soils his tongue — his tongue, a parched slab of meat that tastes foreign to his mouth. he feels the burdensome necessity to swallow it whole, and may the cavernous earth follow suit in devouring him.
❛ it’s my fault. ❜
are they walking in circles ? do you know where we are right now ?
what day is it today ?
they will die with questions in their mouths. ❛ i should never’ve let will do that. told him to do it, even. this is serious, mike. ❜ the branches snap beneath their feet with the eerily prolonged resonance of bone splintering. ❛ what if he gets hurt ? like, really hurt. ❜
they march on in the heat ( it is blistering, but lucas has goosebumps ) and although they are close enough for forearms to nearly be brushing, he has never felt more distant.
you ain’t seen nothing yet.
@palaedin ! ♡