#sad gen

[deeviy]

[deeviy]

[paxtonfamily]

It was the fifth night in a row that Genevieve had been woken up from a nightmare. Sitting up in the bed and letting the tears fall down her face, looking over at Sam. How could she keep doing this to him? She was broken. There was a hole in her soul where her babies had been... Taking a deep breath she reached for water beside the bed. 

@welshwritings

[rhapscdos]

@zadkielic ♠

“In the air, a sea of words that didn't come soon enough. In my mind, a railway station and a ticket stub.” It’s softly whispered into the collar of Genesis’ uniform. His voice doesn’t raise to any notable timbre, but strikes a somber key.

It’s perhaps not the most secluded of places where he sits- the furthest back of the console center in the training room. But it’s out of the way, and that’s all he’s wanted for the better part of today. To be away. With only the drone of the machines to keep him company. It’s been like this since morning, where he’s moved through the hours as two separate trains of thought. Something of a bodily auto-pilot, where he’s never quite sure he’s the one speaking, despite hearing his own voice in the reverberations. But it’s enough to fool just about everyone. Good enough, Genesis reasons. The first clear thought he’s had all day.

“And it is Easter in the town; I can hear as they strike up the band. We're listening to some old man say he came back to life with a hole in his hand.”

Genesis draws his legs up, knees held close to his chest. It’s just a bad day, he argues with himself. Nothing new, nothing special. Not that it helps. Bad days are still bad, no matter the frequency or logic. It doesn’t strike him as to why he’s sitting on the floor either. It doesn’t feel real or solid, but somehow it’s better down here. Where his gaze falls, there’s nothing very interesting: more machines, wires, the blink of lights. But feline irises watch through it, tracking shadows only he can see. He oblivious to the world, drifting ethereal.

“And now the Sunday school is gathered together in pink and in blue. They're heralding angels for you.” He breathes out a shudder, eyes flicking closed to block it out. “But not for me.”

Palm against his temple, auburn locks are knotted between clenched fingers. The line of his arm is drawn taut where muscle strains from tightening too hard. The pressure reminds him of reality. And he keeps singing to stay there.

“They're singing: ‘Gloria in Excelsis Deo. Deo... Gloria in Excelsis.’ But there's no-” his throat tightens. “-there's no hope...”

[likesplatterpaint]

Fighting tears. I don't want him to go. I'll be back in PA over Labor Day. But I don't know how much I'll see him after that of he doesn't get this job. Please don't take my meecal.

[attainably]

I want to go to sleep. Right now. But the stupid self has to go take a 30 fucking minute shower. My hair looks like a weave and in the middle of trying to detangle it all. I want to cry, but I need to sleep so no tears for Gen