prompt. he was his brothers keeper. he's heart-hardened by circumstances. the dim light of the setting sun filters through the cracks of the room, pacing prints into the creaking wood. you are so mad and yet so wrong. @everyroute he's halted to a sudden stop, feet cemented. his scoff is then hardened by old ghosts. ‘ open your god damn eyes, tommy! ’ joel spat. tommy, blood of his blood. marrow of his marrow, his breath bursting like gun smoke as teeth resemble thorns. [ they lie in this valley of traumas, their unholy terrors sing akin to broken ravens, thick with tension. ] you'd have to understand that tommy and joel were brothers first, and they'd always been ones to challenge like brothers. joel's darkness was one which tommy would tide against. but today, joel felt that this challenge was sharpened to a point.
‘ you think i ain't justified, that what you're sayin'? you saw what it is out there. you remember. you know. ’ his heart raced, pounds in horse hoof rhythms and pitter-patters, fleeting shadows of blood spilled and hell-stained. there's grave-yard dirt beneath his fingernails, and the delivery in his words lacks any tongue of moral clarity, or toe to toe, or anything remotely akin to the statement. he prods his finger at his brother's chest. ‘ and damn it, you call it right or wrong, i call it you makin' it through another day. ’