Blood's Sacrifice

Chapter 6 - Home is where the heart is

"I have broken the glass of sanity, and it cannot be repaired. Now, all the pieces are there, laughing at me." Savannah uttered quietly to himself, as he laid down in bed.

This was it. From the episodic moments that all stemmed from the before, beauty had blossomed into this one, particular period of complete madness... or so it felt. What he knew.

If the game was once already over- why was he still here? He asked, and asked, and the answer (or rather, lack thereof) singed, and cursed at his already worn out mind and body from fighting life's battle, after battle, over and over again.

Savannah's apartment in Imagia was humble, modest, and anything but fanciful; which, in a very odd and poetic sense of life, once more, resembled himself. In his room, he stared along the grays of the walls, thinking of so many, many things.

This was not a home, however. This was just his resting place, if temporary. And his coffin, if permanent. That he knew, as consciousness rung his active mind over and over repeatedly with questions that could make him sweat through his fur, heated and feeling lifelessly numb; sick under what flesh became of his body, encasing his purer soul in hellish prison.

He had been living all his life so far in a purgatory. This fact, and this fact alone would leave anyone speechless, and wanting more to grasp upon. More to understand, in order to not be so speechless. In order to not be left there, screaming, at the fabric of this wickedly projected 'reality' which came to be, and worsen. And worsen. And worsen.

This storm that was brewing in his own world. He did not know what it would exactly be like, or how it would precisely manifest... yet he had seen it all for himself already. Blindly, his other senses, definitively, knew. Deep within those bones.

With once energetic, brown eyes then dulled, he turned and turned, like a rabid dog, ever so occasionally unsure, and showing that through his lack of a comfortable spot and position. The covers, which had once so gently tugged to him, had been pushed off, leaving Savannah's body bare to the elements.

There was no point in shielding himself from the bitter reality anymore. This cause, affiliated by that strange fortune teller... was it anything worth fighting for?

He struggled, and struggled to find an answer to this whilst he laid there limp. Surely, he did not feel like there was anything left to do but watch. What could he do, against something that was already years into motion long before even his birth? Death, and only death, was certain; like always.

Late afternoon's sunlight then shone through the window like the blistering hellfire that it was. Somehow, it decided to manage through overcast skies. God, The Watcher's, fervently eyed light felt so proudly, and boldly uncaring that it would continue to shine itself amongst a city; amongst a world that was soon destined to be left in ruins. In Savannah's buzzing mind, he found this the most ironic, crude and senseless thing that his head could only try to wrap his brain around. His very attempt to fathom such a heedless God was immeasurable, at best. They were soulful creator gods all, against one pathetically imbued tyrant that sought control.

...And then, he chuckled. He laughed... gleefully, at the all-encompassing insanity.

Sleeping; perhaps he would continue to exist, after all.