Owner of a Lonely Heart
He screamed.
Again
It was all he had as he felt the burning, biting pain and the lights before his eyes. They sang to him, they shouted and called his name over and over again.
Why do lovely flowers bloom from the cherry tree? Children of seven, waking smile at the sun. The song was there in his ears and the shouting and the burning and the smoke and the fire. Fire so much fire. Fire everywhere and no where. Legs in pain, lungs heaving for air. Breath breath breath cough choke die.
Why do crimson branches dance in the village streets? Children of 7 singing, call down the wind. Clutching cloying tasting bleeding burning dying living gouging. Touching and tearing and weeping. Sweet flower, sweet flower take me away please to far away lands. The sea is where they came from smoke riding--sweeping like foam in the air. Flower, flower flower drifting drifting. Ink spilled silk ruined feathers dashed money made. Flowers so expensive a bundle here a bundle there and touch of happiness for a time.
Why do wilting flowers fall from the cherry tree? Children of 7 dying to wake once more.
Taste of freedom came with snow. Snow in the clothes snow in the toes snow in the mouth. Sweet wanderer across the sea to mountains high and valleys low and the snow for the tongue the promise of joy ojy yoj everlasting to sweet sweet oblivion. Kill for the sweet to reclaim he joy that they die die die die eid edi
He screamed again and Nocturne shuddered. The man roared against the shackled that held him to the bed, the soft restrains binding the captive as more of the need left him--there was more poison here than simply whatever it was that the Followers had fed him. His mouth had to be gagged for fear he’d bite his own tongue off in his roiling pains and throes of withdrawal.
“Be silent, please.”
His hand hovered on the knife on his belt. It would be a mercy--if he ever recovered Oda would never live with himself for what he had become. Eyes sunken and touched with the desperation and hunger only a visitor of the dens could ever know. It wouldn’t be painful. Swift and silent. His pain ended and misery and memory brought to silent bliss. A hand trembled as he held fast the tattered and stained and ruined silken sash that bore the clan’s standard. Using that hand he forced the other to keep the weapon where it belonged and he turned without another word and returned to his room.Silence--so very silent. He shut the door behind him and listened the the unheard screams from the man in the infirmary. Nocturne felt the woven mat beneath his knees and hot tears on his cheeks. His head touched the floor and he wept, prostrate before the altar. No words no songs--no sounds.
@astralagents