Max is barely able to hold up his head as they drag him up out of detainment. The tops of his feet scrape along smoothclean tile, leaving twin trails of blood in their wake, a brightcontrast against the white floor. His body is a breathing canvas painted red, darkened black and blue, and every time their work of art begins to dry —they reopen wounds and they see fresh crimson flow over him again. He hears doors open and close, the guard’s steps go uncounted, he doesn’t even have the will to plan his own escape anymore. surrendering in exhaustion for the inevitable fate that awaits him. and maybe this is the blessed day, maybe they are dragging him to his execution. The smile can’t keep itself from his lips. doors, more doors & more hallways, & many more steps. uncounted. Then the doors open, and the smell of smoke burns at hisnostrils, a warm breeze whipping up and splashing over him. Max fights the pain that radiates from his shoulder, as he struggles to raise his gaze. Had it been weeks, ormonths since he’d been outside? No concept of time wasable to survive in the nightmare his life had descended into. He could tell that it was almost night, the sun blinding him for a minute from it’s resting place on the horizon, beforedisappearing behind the back of a white peacekeeperuniform. they keep dragging him, bare feet no longer on smooth white tile, but ripping up on concrete.Whatever the distance they travel, Max is sure he losessome of it to unconsciousness, only coming to as the low hum of many voices turns into a chant, a war cry. The smoke is thicker here, lays inside his mouth, curls around his tongue, and tears sting his eyes as he triesto blink and peer through the haze. He gags, at the sight that meets his eyes. his body heaving to vomit up the nothing in his stomach, convulsing in wretched movements that tear at weak muscles. His head is bowed again, shaking from side to sideslowly, eyes unable to processes what he’s seen. Ashrill scream rings out, the face behind the voice asclear behind his closed eyes as they day he’d met the beautiful blonde warrior. “C A T O! NO. NO!.” The broken, raw voice is ripped from the chest of a mother & Max’s jaw shakes with the force of trying to hold back tears, lip shaking even under the hard pressure of his teeth. The guards flanking him have grown complacent in his surrender, he can feel it in the loose grip they have on his arms & it only takes a quick jerk to free himself even in his weakened state. He makes it five steps, counted, toward the growing fire. It was a traitor’s death to burn at the stake.When he falls, it’s his body giving out, legs buckling,refusing to serve their purpose, and he’s left clawingforward, fingernails splintering and breaking againstthe ground, the pads of flesh baring his identity beingshredded on rough sidewalk. Oranges, yellows, & reds dance through the fog of smoke and the waves of heat as he looks up again, this time close enough to see the boy’s face. His eyes are trained forward, jaw set, & gods does he look like her, defiant eyes unwilling to bow even as the flames reach him. They don’t even bother to grab him again, he’s not moving. Max watches from the ground the sound of a lifetime’s worth of apologies swallowed up as the prideful boy loses the war against the pain and fills the air with his anguish.
