@mindthewater said ❛can't you hear yourself?❜ | Nix
There is a stillness to him as whatever words might follow, simply dies upon his lips. Her voice is the cause of that. The way her question finds him is like an ice cold slap to the face. ' can't you hear yourself? '. Heavens, of course he can. Is it not logical for him to rest upon this conclusion? Does it not make sense, or-- has he truly lost whatever sanity left in him? It is not so much defeat as it is a wish for an end to come. To recognise that there is no point in moving forwards when the future is bleak and filled with nothing but suffering. Why bother?
He turns to her, long curls shifts with the motion and falls over his shoulders. The journey here has been perilous, but it has also been of his own making. His own greed and anger towards the world, and idly he wonders if it was even worth it in the end. The crutch steadies him like it has done for months now, the aching in his missing limb continues to remind him of his own stupidity. He is not six anymore, he is not the same curious boy who found amusement in pine cones and fairies. No, this version of him, the grown up version of him, sees only pain and fury. Seeks peace in finality. In death.
"Do not start you as well,"
It is not so much a plea as it is a request. What worth does a human life have? Especially his. But then, isn't it rather hypocritical of him to wish for the end when he has fought so very hard to stay alive? Yet, lately he has felt so very lost. Whatever voices that have whispered paths for him to thread are all dead and gone. The crew still holds him in somewhat high regard, but that life is one he would rather bury with the rest of his past. No, Silver is alone once more. But this time an invalid and even more useless than he has ever been.
"What else is there for me to do? I have lost, and frankly, I am tired of this life. Half the men out there are waiting to bury a blade in my back, the other half will come to that same conclusion with time. Am I to just wait until that day comes? Where else am I supposed to go when my own fucking body is failing me?"
Heat and bitterness coats his words. They are not directed at her but rather himself, and he speaks with a venom that spreads through him like a disease. One that only takes hold of his failing mentality rather than the physical part of him.
A sigh falls from him, and he finds himself leaning heavily against the hardwood desk. For a moment his eyes fall shut, as if he is attempting to regain some sense of rationality. He can't. All he sees is ruin, a bloody end that will come sooner rather than later.
