05-05-2020, 12:20 AM
[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]You are my lucky star.
Does it make you sick to see something beautiful? There are twice as many stars in the sky and they shine doubly bright, their dance a lasting cascade from deep blue to morning's amber. For the life of him, he cannot decide if there is a correlation between the leader's polite dipping-out of home and the silent evening fireworks, or if these sorts of events could only happen by coincidence.
If he feels closer to the sun it is only because the earth feels warmer, tonight, and the evening far less dim under the lights above. And maybe he feels a deep warmth in his chest because he is not alone here, too, but if he attributes the feeling to a deeper love than camaraderie, then he'd hope something big and bright crashes into him to end the thought, then and there. He's new to this, is all.
"It's nice, isn't it?" If he could touch him he would, put his metal hand on his shoulder, press his head into the warm and fuzzy crook of his neck. Emil deserves an apology from him that words cannot convey, but maybe this is enough. Ahab sits with that weight in his chest, mothers it. He thinks, if this is the beginning of the end, he'd be happy to let go just like this. There is perhaps nothing more he could want than the body at his side and the knowledge that his family is happy and warm in their beds. They'd go silently. He'd smile and let himself burn to nothing. It was better this way, to be at peace with it.
But they are not dead yet, and as he's thought to himself time and time again, the world continues to turn. A few stars streak across the purple sky, and he cannot help but wonder what wish he'd rather make true.
Lucky, lucky. lucky.
Does it make you sick to see something beautiful? There are twice as many stars in the sky and they shine doubly bright, their dance a lasting cascade from deep blue to morning's amber. For the life of him, he cannot decide if there is a correlation between the leader's polite dipping-out of home and the silent evening fireworks, or if these sorts of events could only happen by coincidence.
If he feels closer to the sun it is only because the earth feels warmer, tonight, and the evening far less dim under the lights above. And maybe he feels a deep warmth in his chest because he is not alone here, too, but if he attributes the feeling to a deeper love than camaraderie, then he'd hope something big and bright crashes into him to end the thought, then and there. He's new to this, is all.
"It's nice, isn't it?" If he could touch him he would, put his metal hand on his shoulder, press his head into the warm and fuzzy crook of his neck. Emil deserves an apology from him that words cannot convey, but maybe this is enough. Ahab sits with that weight in his chest, mothers it. He thinks, if this is the beginning of the end, he'd be happy to let go just like this. There is perhaps nothing more he could want than the body at his side and the knowledge that his family is happy and warm in their beds. They'd go silently. He'd smile and let himself burn to nothing. It was better this way, to be at peace with it.
But they are not dead yet, and as he's thought to himself time and time again, the world continues to turn. A few stars streak across the purple sky, and he cannot help but wonder what wish he'd rather make true.
Lucky, lucky. lucky.