@whitesuited queried: “ i knew something had to change when nightmares no longer scared me. they almost felt safer than what was there when i was awake. ” ( and one for nick our beloved )
------THIS WAS NOT a fairy tale. he’d learned from a young age that there was no happily ever after waiting just beyond reach, if you could only make it through the challenge. the world was a cruel place, the people in it were slaves to that, and some of them were machinations of the horrific treatment. a hammer to beat some down. there was no rhyme or reason to how it was doled out - sometimes the nasty ones got what they deserved but just as many good ones got it, too. too often suffering was spread among those who didn’t deserve it ... that was just how the world worked.
complaining about the way it was wouldn’t change anything. nick had picked himself up, dusted off, scraped away the gravel rubbed into raw wounds so many times that he’d lost track. life had dealt him a rough hand. nightmares were never anything measured up to reality. THAT WAS JUST THE TRUTH OF IT.
and then the world ended, and somehow everything got simultaneously worse ... and better. somehow those nasty people were weeded out, tossed down the drain and disposal started to swirl into the cosmic abyss. good people, too ... but that always seemed to be the cost of change. collateral damage. initially he’d wondered why he was left among the living. perhaps it was to suffer more, or maybe it was to keep doing what he’d always done: survive. against the odds. he turned trash into a flush more often than not. he’d done it this long.
eyes watched the shape of her lips as she spoke, the expression that crossed her features. body language told much more than a voice ever could, the light in the eyes and the way it glimmered as conversation wore on. he nodded, but not in understanding ---in empathy. nothing in his dreams would ever dare to brush the terror of reality. in sleep he thought of his mother, he dreamed of a woman in colorado who played guitar and talked of her youth. sometimes it was simpler than that ... easy work, like when he used to pump gas by hand in louisiana ---honest, under a hot sun. the horror was when he woke up and dealt with the nastiness of people. or when he watched everyone wither away and die. when he was handed responsibility he wasn’t meant for. when he helplessly witnessed those who were kind to him succumb and pass.
a part of him was afraid that would happen to HER, too. perhaps he was cursed, or maybe this was some sort of purgatory where he lived in a specifically-tailored punishment until the end of time. but she remained, healthy and present, every time he opened his eyes. silent blessings. small mercies.
he had nothing to offer her in the way of comfort, not the way someone more eloquent with words might be able to. instead he reached for her hand and wrapped his fingers around it. the squeeze was delicate, gentle ---too gentle for someone who’d gone through as much as he had, but sincere. he did his best to ensure the smile met his eyes, even if it was small. because she deserved nice things. because nobody should have to live nightmares like he had, least of all sharon.
