HE, PAINTED RED / HE, DEAD DISGUISED. miles whittled down beneath blistered soles, no end in mind — nothing but the desire to move, to keep one step ahead of death’s tempting embrace. ADDICTED TO SURVIVAL, to carry on despite the odds ( nick, you could’ve died — yeah, coulda, woulda, shoulda ), echoes of a time long past still relevant. months pass in a haze, no company but those with rattling breath whispering their secrets to those that would heed their words — he lends an ear, ever the good listener, & in return they grant him safe passage, blood concealing humanity to allow for free movement within their ranks.
until now. trapped, no longer safe within undead numbers, group felled by bullets that carve mercilessly into skulls with aim unwavering. culprit stands ahead, barbed bat weapon of choice — still, defiance laces brittle tone, voice heavily disused testament to how long since path had crossed with those that required actual speech.
‘ i can handle myself. ’ he was BORN for this world, birthed in uncertainty throughout formative years, thriving on chaos. no matter how pallid skin appeared beneath crimson mask, how chapped lips spoke of dehydration’s ebb, the breath that billowed resolute in air between was testament to stubborn will that had allowed survival thus far. solitude was preferable, connection to the living a long forgotten desire.
but even he fearless knows danger, can hear warning in sharp syllables that resonate with bold threat. SURRENDER comes in raised reddened hands, palm lines encrusted with dirt & blood ; weight shifts to knees, sodden ground soaking through jeans in an instant. eyes still bore unblinkingly into leader’s gaze, jaw set, undaunted, ❛ let me go, now, & you’ll never see me again. that’s a PROMISE. ❜
* CONTINUED FROM ( X ) / @ne-gan