I want to go to the beach. So badly. But I can’t. I never thought I would complain about Covid-19 but here we are. Complaining about it I have no problems self isolating but I’d still like to go to the beach when I want to. This must be how the landlocked sea witches feel. An intense desire to go to the ocean and no way to go.
Follow-Up to this thread, in which grudges are temporarily set aside in favour of a greater good.
❝ SAC-RI-FICE : the fact of giving up something important or valuable to you in order to get or do something that seems more important. ❞
@cryxmercy
Arriving, he scanned the vicinity until his eyes settled on a slumped pale form by some of the crates. Putting a foot down and leaning the bike he whistled, the piercing noise shrill and sharp to get her attention. “Wakey wakey Frey.” In his focus on Freyja, Arthur had made the rather bad mistake of failing to scan the local vicinity; failing to make out a dark shape lurking atop one of the many warehouses that dotted the docks.
The shrill whistle did little to snap Mercy out of her fevered doze. A small frown and a weak turn of her head was the only indication she’d heard Arthur call out to her at all. There was no witty retort, no sarcastic comment, not even a roll of her eyes. They stayed closed, dark lashes fluttering restlessly over her pale skin. So like Arthur, Mercy didn’t see the dark figure standing on the roof… or the empty space it left behind when it disappeared…
Leaving the headbeam on, Arthur kicked down the stand before swinging off his bike leaving the engine running for the time being. “Shit,” he grunted as he neared his age-olf friend a tidal wave of worry rising up in him as he stepped close. “Fucking hell Frey,” Arthur stepped up carefully moving to brush her mess of tangled locks back out of her face and then press his hands to her neck in an attempt to find her pulse. She was so cold. Too cold. Combined with the thready pulse left him worrying at his lip. “Let’s get you sorted, hm?” His fingers softly brushed her chin, there was only so much he could do here. They’d need to get somewhere that he could work. Arthur had been about to duck down and make a vain attempt to lift her off the crates when something dark and spectral loomed out of the corner of his eye. It was pure chance that he dropped to the rough decking in time for the dark entity to swirl in an icy rush of air just past where he’d been standing moments prior. “Shit!” He rolled, scrambling back staring at the cloaked floating entity that hovered a few meters out over the waters, ethereal menacing whispers of decedents seeming to emanate from the depths of its darkness. “Ah…. Fuck.”
Mercy stirred slightly when Arthur’s warm hands pressed against her skin. She frowned, turning her head a bit, but didn’t wake. When she’d fallen asleep, that had given the dark form hidden in the shadows the opportunity it needed to get close. To siphon more of her immortal lifeforce. But the approach of another had made it retreat. Light and sound drove it back to the shadows where it waited and watched. Where it was cautious until it felt the bright flame of life the new figure brought with it. And was unable to resist.
The wraith dove for Arthur, voices of the dead echoing off the wet concrete and the rusted metal of the warehouse, intent on marking him as it had the Fury. Draining him as it was doing her. But it was too slow, and missed. Hovering over the water of the bay, the wraith kept up it’s whispers, for there were many, spanning lifetime after lifetime… men, women… children… their voices echoed in the darkness. Calling out… crying for help, for their friend… their lover… their father…
“Ren…” Mercy’s voice was faint and weak, but somehow she was awake. Barely, but she was. “Don’t… don’t listen… s’not real. ‘S’magic.”
There was plenty of life to be had in the both of them, more than any creature that sustained itself on such things might ever be capable of living off and siphoning of its own benefit. It was no wonder that the creature had been drawn to Mercy in the first place. She was bright and vibrant and exuded life in every thing she did, no matter how dumb it could occasionally be. They were all facets that made Arthur appreciate her all the more for having them.
He hit the decking hard, the surface slick with water from the docks enough that he felt his hands sting on contact but not enough to do anything more than cause him to break out in a rash across his palms. And that was when the whispers started, eerie and dissonant as they seemed to surround him from all sides. But it was clear enough what was doing this.
“Yeah, yeah I know Frey.” Grabbing a nearby crate he hauled himself back up to his feet the danger of his friend’s well-being making him feel braver than he normally might’ve in a situation like this. He’d always been the one to find a tactical solution, talk his way around things… But this thing clearly didn’t want to talk. What could he do?
What else was there beyond…
“Hey! Hey you,” he shouted raising his voice as he stepped forwards “stay the fuck away from her.... You want life? You want memories? Come get it! Nothing better than an endless all you can fucking eat buffet.” The creature seemed to swell at the prospect and Arthur knew he only had one chance to time this right because while he was saying this he started to curl his fingers. Allowing his mind to reach and connect with every source of heat within a ten-foot radius. Siphoning any remnant warmth out of the air and drawing it towards his person.
Mercy tried to get up. As the creature wailed and the voices in her own head crashed and echoed against one another… centuries upon centuries of life and death all making her want to claw at her ears to make it stop. But she could barely push upright, the nearness of the wraith dimming the flame that fueled her immortal life. It hurt, and as the creature turned its focus to Arthur, filling itself with more of the Fury’s life essence in preparation to take that which Arthur so willingly seemed to offer… Mercy felt a sharp pain deep in her chest.
Fire raked across her back at the same time, the marks from the wraiths claws flaring with pain as it wailed. The darkness around it seemed to grow as it melded with the shadows… growing… seething… readying itself to gorge on the bounty that lay before it.
Mercy registered what Arthur was doing, at least in calling the monster down on himself, and felt a flare of fear and pain that hurt more than everything else combined. If the wraith got ahold of him… “Ren… don’t...” There was a desperate edge to her voice, weak as it already was, but even her fear couldn’t force her body to cooperate. Mercy felt like she was bleeding out… like something vital had been struck… was this what it was like to die?
She didn’t feel much different as the heat was pulled from the air around her… she was already so cold…
There was a sudden rush of horrible sound and a flare of pain. Mercy wasn’t sure if it was the wraith that was screaming, or herself. Or if it was Aren. She didn’t have a chance to find out… the screaming was followed by heat and light… and then nothing but darkness.
The horrific lurch of Mercy’s body caused Arthur to tense further, his fingers hovering at his sides in fists tight enough that his nails pierce skin. Blood dripping down in the intensity of his focus and fear. Each drop sizzled as it hit the cold wood, watching as the wraith swelled with potent energy. But just as the wraith gathered its shadows, the flames began to flicker and dance around Arthur’s frame. Growing in their intensity as he gave over his control. Around him the flames swelled and twin jagged flaming wings rose, as the head of an entrancing avian-like image rose around him the pulse of the flames in sync with the pounding of his own heart.
Over the crackle of the fire and smell of charring wood Arthur heard Mercy’s cry, but he paid it no mind. His focus was intent and honed on the creature as it swayed, waiting to pick its moment to strike. “Come on, come on.”
And then it happened, all at once there was a rush of screams and mournful cries that assaulted his mind as the wraith shot forwards. Arthur’s hands rose forth, the flame bursting forth around him and turning his eyes a violent haze of golden-orange as the searing light from the mythical fire burned away every shadow in the area. There was a wailing cry that pierced his ears the sound enough to send twin rivulets of blood seeping from each before the wave of heat and fire dimmed.
The darkness returned, leaving Arthur shaking where he stood staring at the smouldering barrier. Blood dripped from his ears mixing with the sweat dripping down his temple as he felt the wash of exhaustion overcome him. He glanced around in search of the creature but found it no where to be found. Banished or otherwise… It gave them time and on unsteady feet Arthur rushed to Mercy’s side. “Nonono, come on,” he pushed her hair back and used his finger to try and pull open her lid “Frey? Frey?! Can you hear me?”
Mercy didn’t see the phoenix flames as they rose up to burn away the screaming wraith that wanted both her and Arthur for it’s own. She didn’t hear it’s wail, or Arthur’s words as he called on it to strike if it was going to strike. She didn’t even feel the cold any longer. There was only the darkness. A void of nothingness. Was this what death was like? Just… nothing? For eternity?
Mercy didn’t want to be there anymore. She tried to scream… tried to call out… tried to reach for… something, anything to hold onto. To help pull herself out of the dark. But she found nothing. Only emptiness. Until someone called her name. It was faraway… like a memory of an echo… but Mercy turned towards it and reached out with cold, numb fingers…
She groaned, turning towards the blessed heat of Arthur’s hands on her face, and the sound of his voice. Her eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open. And her teeth chattered as she shivered, the rest of her still cold as ice, even though the wraith’s hold over her was broken.
The first thing that struck Arthur as he touched her skin was how cold she was. The thought was enough to flood him with sudden and chilling realisation that he had to do something or else who knew what might happen. In all the centuries he’d known her never before had he seen her like this. Fear sat heavy like a lead weight in his stomach as he pulled her off the crates and set her on the wooden planks of the docks under one of the lights that illuminated the region.
His eyes moved over the pallor of her face, noting the ashen colouration to her skin and way her breathing came in short puffs through chattering lips. “I’m here, I’ve got you. Stay strong, I need you to stay strong.” Next came the scan for where these wounds she’d mentioned were, checking along her neck, shoulders and down until it was the press of his fingers towards her hip and back that seemed to stir her in pain. “Sorry-- I’m sorry,” he mumbled softly as he worked, pulling her over onto her side so that he could pull off her jacket and roll up her shirt “I’ve gotta do this though Frey.”
The sight of the wounds; thick black and purple veins criss-crossing away from the deep blackened lacerations made him grimace. Not to mention the acrid smell that rose from them that turned his nose as he fought against the natural instinct to pull away. “Bloody hell Frey, what did you get yourself into this time?” The burning heat of his hands rested around each wound as he focussed on the history they shared, the joy but also eternal sorrow woven between them. He looked up to the darkness of night, the rolling clouds overhead and shafts of moonlight feeling the wind stir and pick up as he spoke aloud. “Hear me… Find your fallen valkyrja, restore the flame to her loyal and eternal soul so that she might rise again to sow the seeds of chaos once more in your name. Her work here is not yet finished. Hear me!” The tears came easily after that, bowed over as each hot tear dripped into the wounds sizzling on contact with the blackened wounds while he prayed to the Old Gods. Their Gods. To spare her and restore her.
Mercy had been hurt and battered and bruised more times and in more ways than anyone could ever recount. Even the Fury herself. Even Arthur, who’d known her longer than anyone. But even the worst injury she’d ever had was nothing compared to the life-leeching power of the wraith. A power which had found nearly endless resources when it had tasted Mercy’s blood. It was gone now, so it would take no more of her life-force, but the wounds had lingered for so long that they festered even as the Fury’s body tried to heal them. But there were barely any reserves left to pull from. The wraith had done a fine job of taking what it could at the eleventh hour. As it saw a fresh source in the form of the Phoenix that had come to the aid of his friend.
Perhaps it was the closest Mercy would come to death, with the ice and poison in her blood. In the darkness of whatever Purgatory she was trapped in, Mercy knew she didn’t want to die. Not yet. Not like this. So she clung to the heat that pressed to her face. Clung to the sound of Arthur’s voice… more of a beacon in the darkness than the flames of the phoenixfire from moments before. But there was pain despite the comfort those things brought. Pain that danced bright-white over Mercy’s vision and threatened her tenuous hold on consciousness.
But then something stirred in the void. Something ancient and powerful and full of more real magic than anyone alive had ever witnessed. For even Old Gods listened when they were truly called upon. And Aren had been there when they were still worshiped with blood and sacrifice. Freyja - as Mercy had once been called - had been there too. Perhaps that was what stirred the Fury’s body to slowly start healing itself. Arthur’s fervent prayer, and the centuries of belief he and Mercy had always shared.
Or perhaps it was the phoenix tears - exceedingly rare and precious - that fell onto her skin. Or maybe it was both. Whatever the reason, a rumble of thunder sounded across the clear night sky, and somewhere far away, lightning flashed. Another gust of wind - wind that sounded like a whisper of voices if one listened close enough - blew along the docks, stirring leaves and detritus as it passed. It finally whipped around Arthur and Mercy, stirring their hair and clothes into a state.
And slowly, ever so slowly, the cold of Mercy’s skin started to warm beneath Arthur’s hands. The wounds started to heal as the blackness was drawn out of Mercy’s skin like oil. Pushed out by the healing magic of Arthur’s tears. Thick and viscous and smelling like rot and decay, it oozed down her back and side, staining skin and clothes and anything else it touched. The healing hurt, and Mercy made a small sound of pain, shifting beneath Arthur’s hands. But slowly, her breathing grew soft and deep and slow, and her skin took on a slightly flushed appearance. She stirred, but only for a moment. Then she was still again, but breathing softly and slowly.
The night fell eerily quiet after that. No thunder, no lightning, no breeze. Just utterly calm and still.
Whatever had passed over was gone.
Arthur acted on instinct, of bone-deep traditions from such a long time ago. A time when things had been so much simpler. Reaching for the knife tucked in the side of her boot he withdrew it and with a sharp motion carved a thick line across the palm of his hand. A matching mark from aeons ago lost in the lifetimes that had come and gone between. Returned in this moment. The pain made him grimace but soon enough bright crimson spilled forth. It bled across his hand as he twisted his wrist hand balled into a tight fist turned in a fashion so the blood trickled down his thumb. As he spoke his prayer, calling on Eir, Frigg and Freyja - her namesake. His blood given freely in offering as ancient custom dictated.
His thumb pressed to her skin the red contrasting starkly to her pallor. The movements were each sharp and precise, drawing three thin vertical triangles down her forehead; the central one a fraction longer than those either side of it. His hand moved gripping to draw more blood forth as the pad of his thumb pressed to her zygomatic arch curving under the sockets of her eye to the central aspect of her nose and mirrored the act to the same point on the contralateral side forming a wide curving ‘w’ to frame her features. On either side beneath the points from which the W began, two shorter more angular lines were drawn. The act finished with a single vertical line across her chin.
There was still power in ancient customs and rites. If done correctly, called upon and drawn forth. Arthur kept some of the customs still and it was at times like this, where he could feel the wind rushing by and hear the crash of the waves that he felt most connected. Most tethered to that point where all these lifetimes converged. The rumble of thunder and crack of lightning only further indication that whatever he’d done here had worked. His prayer answered.
He cradled her there as she stirred, letting the black sludge ooze out onto the decking. It would be a hell to clean up for whoever came down here but he didn’t care. A glance up towards the thickening cloud cover and ozone that carried on the breeze foretold of rain coming soon. It would help to wash away some of the evidence of what had happened here tonight. Freyja’s breathing levelled, and Arthur let out the breath he’d been holding. Hooking an arm under her shoulders the other curved under her knees as he hefted her off the decking and towards the idling bike. “Frey, I need you to hold on. Listen to me okay? Hold on.”
The Old Gods still listened. If you knew what to say.
There weren’t many who still knew that ancient language. One that was unwritten, held in the memories of those that had been there - few though they were - and in the hearts of their ancestors. A language of blood and sacrifice. A language that both Arthur and Mercy had been born knowing. A language that still held as much power now as it had centuries ago.
Mercy’s fingers flexed, the faded scar on her palm burning with pain as Arthur remade his own mark. A mark that had disappeared with the end of his first life. A mark that had been the sign of a blood oath between himself and Mercy when they were just children. Unaware that their lives would extend across the centuries. An oath to never abandon one another. To always find each other, no matter where life and the gods decided to take them. To always love and protect and cherish. It was an oath Mercy had never forsaken, for even if she had chosen not to be a part of Arthur’s life for the last two centuries, she’d always been there at the end. At the burning. To collect his ashes and keep them safe until his new life began. And then to find him a new home, a safe place with people who would love him and raise him to be a good man. A kind man. A man who even now, after Mercy had hurt him so deeply, was giving freely of himself - of his blood and his tears - to save her life.
Thunder rumbled, and a chill wind blew over them both as Arthur painted Mercy’s face with his blood. Ancient symbols, ancient rites, ancient words were given over to the will of the gods. Lightning split the gathering storm clouds, and a sudden, violent flash hit the surface of the bay with an ear-splitting crack. Almost simultaneously, Mercy sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, her fingers twisting in the fabric of Arthur’s shirt. For that one, brief moment, the sunless sky was bright as day.
Then it faded, and all was silent.
Mercy’s eyelids fluttered as Arthur lifted her into his arms, and when he spoke, asking her to listen and to hold on, she was able to open her eyes just a bit. Her voice was weary, but she did as he asked, a murmured, “Always…” her only reply.
It took a little while for Arthur to make it to his feet, Mercy was a fair bit studier than he had ever been in any life. He’d never been partial or prone to bulking muscle so the journey back across the decking took a little longer. But eventually they managed to arrive to the idling bike as Mercy seemed to somewhat find her feet though still heavily propped up by Arthur. It was a struggle to get her on, but she steadied after a moment.
“Alright,” he said as he swung his leg over and settled on the seat. It struck him in that moment the irony of the reversal this situation was of the last time they had seen each other. “Hold on,” he said again as he checked her hold around his waist. The last thing he needed right now was Mercy falling off on the ride back across time. Revving the engine up, he pulled away from the dock and after a little bumpy track hit smooth road on route away from the darkened docks.
Other than the rumble of the engine and rush of wind passing them by the journey was quiet, every now and then Arthur brought a hand down to check on Mercy’s arms when he felt them loosening somewhat. “Almost there. We’re
Mercy was awake enough by the time Arthur set her down at the bike that as long as she kept ahold of him, she wasn’t too likely to fall down again. The transition to the bike was awkward, but it was much easier to sit when Arthur got on with her. She slumped forward a bit, wrapping her arms around his waist, fingers gripping his shirt as best she could, and hummed an acknowledgement as he started towards home.
It felt like a longer ride than it was, the wind and the vibration of the bike, combined with Arthur’s familiar warmth soaking into her cold skin, made Mercy want to drift off to sleep. The occasional touches to her arm were enough to make her open her eyes again, her grip readjusting to something a bit steadier. “‘M’alright…” she murmured, burying her face between his shoulders.
The journey was along a different route to those they had driven on the last couple of occasions, slightly further towards the Outskirts. Arthur had recently gone ahead and procured some property there, though admittedly there had been a little bit of a ghost issue since moving in. It was in the works of being figured out but they made for interesting house company. Eventually, the road began to smooth out as Arthur guided the bike along the driveway stopping outside and steadying the bike with the both of them on it.
“You okay to walk?” he asked softly, reaching a hand back to touch her side knowing the heat would act as a focus for her attention. The way she pressed against his back might’ve been strangely if not for the concern that currently filled him for her well-being. “It’s not far. I promise. We’ll get you inside and warmed up, yeah?”
Mercy nodded against Arthur’s back, her attention indeed drawn to the pinpoints of warmth as he touched her. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and rest. Right here would’ve been fine, with Arthur warm and solid beside her. But here wasn’t a good place. Not when her ability to stay upright was mostly dependent on him. But she managed, pulling on a reserve of strength she didn’t realize she’d had in order to walk the path to Arthur’s door. Idly, she registered that this wasn’t the house she’d been to before, but couldn't find her voice to ask him about it. Perhaps later. If there was a later.
“You okay?” she asked quietly, even as sleep pulled at her like a boulder tied to her feet. But she forced herself to stay awake. “I don’t… I don’t… remember what-” What had happened at the docks. She remembered texting him, and then after that it was dark. Until now.
“I’m okay, save your energy.” Propping one of her arms over his shoulder (having to stoop in the process) Arthur walked her to the front door. Using his keys to unlock it and push it open as they headed inside the warm interior. Boxes were presently piled high in several corners of the rooms but it wasn’t too difficult to maneuver their way towards the stairs and up towards the upper floors turning on a couple of lights as he guided her through the house.
More boxes lay unopened here while others were half unpacked as he guided her through, turning right and through a door he was quiet on route. “You need sleep… We’ll talk more once you’ve rested,” his voice while still soft was stern as they arrived at the larger room that was relatively empty by comparison to the hallways they had passed thus far.
He walked her over to the bed inside, helping remove her jacket and guide her to sit on the edge of the bed where he helped take off her boots and socks. “Wait here.”
Mercy could only hum her reply as Arthur moved them through the door and into the house. There were stairs here, and Mercy knew that she hadn’t seen stairs in his house before. Or maybe she just didn’t remember? No… no there were no stairs in Arthur’s house. “Where are we?” she asked as they moved down the hallway. Though Arthur wasn’t being all that forthcoming with an answer currently. Mercy couldn’t find the energy to argue. Not now. Which was saying something, considering her nature. But the wraith had done a number on her. Unlike anything she’d come across in the past. Later, she would realize just what it was Arthur had done for her, once she was coherent enough to take it all in and process it. Would that be the catalyst that would convince her to tell him the truth of her long absence? Or would she still selfishly hold onto a 200-year-old secret? That was yet to be seen.
Presently, Mercy could only focus on what was right in front of her. Arthur, who was slipping her out of her jacket, and then her boots and socks. Her toes - painted a bright red - curled as his fingers brushed against her bare feet. “Tickles…” she murmured, even if she couldn’t produce much of a laugh. She sat quietly once he moved away, doing as he asked and trying not to simply fall over onto the bed and curl up in an exhausted ball. Her eyes fell closed despite her desire to stay awake. But the sound of his returning footfalls had her opening them again. “Alright?” she asked, her tone weary but also still full of concern, despite Arthur’s previous insistence that he was fine.
“My place,” a simplistic answer but to the point of where they were. It wasn’t so much that Arthur didn’t want to give her answers, more that he was incredibly conscious of the fact that not an hour prior she’d been seemingly on death’s door. Not a place he’d ever seen her, and the reality of that still weighed heavy in his mind. The gripping icy fear locking tight around his heart and freezing his blood in his veins. That cold fear had yet to leave him and until he could assure his mind that she truly was safe from the hazards of that wraith he would prioritise her health over answers to her questions.
It was a short journey to the closet which so far was the only thing that had any semblance of order. Pulling open a drawer he rummaged through until he had one of his soft tri-blend cotton tees and a set of joggers. They would be too big but they’d be more comfortable than what she had on right now. Returning with them and a pack of face wipes he set them down and a faint ghost of a smile appeared at her question, “always…” Perhaps not the entire truth, but he wasn’t the priority right now. “Eyes closed,” he instructed before he wiped her face clean to the best of his ability and once that task was done spoke once more “arms up,” then came the process of swapping out her clothes patiently.
For a moment Arthur’s fingers checked over the spots where the wraith had gashed her, lingering on the skin as warm points of contact for a little longer than perhaps was necessary. Until finally he was happy enough and nodded to assure himself that this was okay. “Come on, lie down now.”
“It’s new…” she said, as if Arthur didn’t know that himself. Idly, she wondered why she didn’t know Arthur had found a new place to live. Shouldn’t she know that sort of thing? It seemed as if it should be. Her foggy mind did little to help her remember why she didn’t know such a thing as she waited on Arthur to return. When he did, she did her best to keep him in focus, but he blurred in and out until he came close enough. When he did, her eyes moved slowly over his face, a ghost of a smile finding it’s way to her own as she closed her eyes and let him wipe her face. Mercy wondered if she’d gotten filthy at some point, not knowing that Arthur had marked her with his blood in order to save her.
She raised her arms as instructed, not bothered if Arthur saw her without clothes. It wouldn’t be the first time. And Mercy was hardly shy. But there was nothing but professionalism in Arthur’s movements as he switched out her clothes for ones far cleaner and far more suited to sleep. Mercy gave no resistance, and helped where she could. When his hands lingered over the reddened marks of the healed wraith wounds, she hummed at the pleasant sensation, and leaned towards it. But it was over almost as soon as it had begun, and Mercy felt the loss of Arthur’s warmth acutely, even in her weary, muzzy-headed state.
Lying down was easy, and closing her eyes would’ve been even easier. But she didn’t want to. Not yet. Not when Arthur was still here with her. “Stay?” she asked quietly. “Please?”
Only once Arthur was happy with her state did he let her lie down, pulling the covers back for her to settle in the large king sized bed. After she was settled, he pulled the covers back over her making sure she was tucked in comfortably. He’d been about to wish her a good sleep when her voice echoed, quiet but sincere and he was given pause. His steps faltered, and he looked between the door and then back once more to Mercy. It wouldn’t have been the first time they had shared space when they had slept. Brief flashes of past moments came back to him and he wondered whether it was a smart decision but the worry and lingering concern from the night override any better judgement.
“Yeah, okay.” And he turned back, circling around to the other side as he slipped off his shoes, socks and jacket disposing them in a small pile by the bed to be dealt with in the morning. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to wrap his own cut hand (that he had quite deliberately chosen not to heal) in a clean covering before turning to settle. Slipping into the space beside her above the covers Arthur was mindful not to jostle her all too much tucking a hand up under the pillow. “You need to sleep.”
Mercy waited, watching through hooded eyes as Arthur paused. She was uncertain what he would decide, but she knew she very much wanted him to stay. The longer she was near him, the more that feeling grew. Each subsequent meeting only made Mercy realize how much she’d missed him. How much time had been wasted because she was afraid. And because she was selfish. A part of her had felt hollowed out and filled with ice since that day so long ago now. A day that was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, but had turned into the worst of her entire existence.
So when he agreed, Mercy felt a bit of the ice fall away from that hollow place, and for a moment it didn’t feel quite so empty. She rolled over slowly to face him and watched quietly as he got settled. “I know.” But she wanted to look at him for a bit longer before she let herself fall asleep. They might never be here again, once Mercy told Arthur the truth. Which she would. Soon. Once she found a way to actually say the words. But that thought was idle at the back of her mind right now as she took a few moments to search his face, and despite the tiny differences - mostly a bit of grey that touched the edges of his hair and beard - note that Arthur looked as he always had. With his dark features strikingly handsome against his pale skin. And his blue eyes… Mercy found herself drifting off as she let herself become lost in them for just a moment. She blinked, and found herself moving just a bit closer as her eyelids felt heavier than ever. When they wouldn’t open again, and exhaustion at last took hold, Mercy wouldn’t remember murmuring, “I miss you...” as she let blessed sleep, and not the cold, terrible darkness of earlier, finally take her.
Even now distance remained between them, in the literal and not so literal sense. But the events of the evening had taken a toll on the both of them in a physical and mental way that left Arthur without reason to question whether this was the right or wrong thing to do. There were so many questions that remained unanswered and while sleep found Mercy with relative swiftness her soft mutter only left him to ponder those thoughts for several hours beyond.
If she missed him as much as she claimed then what had created this rift that lay between them? And how much longer would she force him to wait in the dark for her? As if he hadn’t waited long enough for this moment to come about already. What more did she want of him? But those were questions he’d asked and been given nothing more than smoke and mirrors, veiling excuses in the form of answers. She was scared. Arthur could tell. Had always been able to tell. But it didn’t enlighten him on the reason why and in that void his mind ran wild. Theories upon theories of situations and encounters that must’ve come to pass to create this strange and uncomfortable co-existence between two beings that had for so much of their lives lived as one.
Closing his eyes against the dim moonlight, Arthur surrendered to the eventual heavy pull of sleep. The questions, if only for a short time, fading to darkness.
It lingers behind me, as if watching me go; I can’t help but look in the rear view, to watch it too. It says nothing, and so neither do I.
My head is foggy from the night before. It swims with muddled memories and blurred images, and I try my hardest to focus on the world around me, but I can’t. The car growls beneath my fingers, and the tires turn and roll over and over, so quickly, yet my thoughts are sluggish. Everything is a mix of green pines and tarred pavement and cloudy dawn skies. I grip the edge of the steering wheel, as if it might bring me down to earth if I hold it close enough.
It is a silent ride but for the purr of the engine and the breeze battering the windows. 5:09 AM, and the rising sun shoots feeble rays through the crowded sky. Headlights blink from the other side of the freeway, and my thoughts are lost again for a moment in the lives of other drivers. Are they on their way to work, or to see someone they love? Is their music playing in the background, soft and melodic, or sharp and heavy? Do they think of me in passing, a stranger to line a dream? Do they know about the lake? Are they chased by their past, just as I am? Is that why they drive twenty miles faster than the speed limit?
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
I try to breathe, for a moment. In, in, out through the mouth, just like the song said. What song? The car lurches forwards on the rumble strip and I forget my lungs altogether just to keep myself on the road. If it happens again, I’ll pull over. I have people waiting for me. They wouldn’t like me to die just yet.
Wouldn’t a funeral be sad?
I feel worse for those around me than for myself. I could ignore every icy drop of water slipping down my spine to save them from their own waterfall. Their drives shouldn’t have to be like this. I want them to live, and live well, even if I can’t.
So I breathe, and I set my eyes on the streaking yellow lines beneath my car, and drive home. I’ll leave the lake in its place to be on the land.
The ocean dances before me, I watch the tide recede, it’s foam billowing, bursting into bubbles.
How could something so beautiful contain such monstrosities? How could something so lovely be responsible for so much heart ache? Why does it terrify and comfort? How could something so peaceful be equally brutal?
I understand her.
I’m afraid because I understand her.
A depthless abyss, violent and cruel. Shallow, overwhelming, some people’s joy and other’s nightmare.
Will you blame the sea water in your lungs for your drowning or me?
I don't understand why people can't just go places, why there's locks on other places. I wish we could still just get on a boat and see something new, and after that travel somewhere else new.
Not taking things, just trying new foods and seeing different creatures and plants that don't grow where I call home. Breathe new air, see things I didn't know existed. No restraints, no passports or fees.
But people did shitty things before I existed. People fucked eachother over and hurt eachothers homes and their people before I was a thought. So there's borders even out at sea. And the rules became even stricter when I was six months old, when my idea of travel was seeing new faces of family.
I know where I live is huge country, made of stolen land inhabited by so many nations. I know there's a lot I could see. But I'm still restricted. Not by the rules, but by money. I haven't seen family for the holidays in years. I feel so bad for not being able to afford it.
I feel so antsy and caged, I used to live 1000 miles away, somewhere with trees and coasts. I could breathe. Now everything looks the same and I'm surrounded in grass, sometimes the occasional sorghum field, or cow. I cannot breathe. The air here is thin and painful. I need to be near the ocean, near lush forests. I need to breathe.
I don't understand why I can't just go places. I don't understand why it's not safe, why there's no much greed. I just wanna breathe.
For ~ Lens-Artists Challenge #56 by Amy ~ Seascapes ~ Sea At The Edge ~
For ~ Lens-Artists Challenge #56 by Amy ~ Seascapes ~ Sea At The Edge ~
I never had the chance to live near the sea. The Northern Mountain Areas of Pakistan have been our family homeland. Born in a landlocked country Kashmir (Disputed Area-Occupied by India) my first love is the hillside landscape. In 2016 a family wedding created the opportunity to travel a thousand miles to the South, to the sea side city of Pakistan..KARACHI (former capital ) The exciting daylong…
