For Him [TomTord]

×Deja Vu×

"I've been here before." He said. Staring up at himself. The cold metal pressed on his throat, leaving little room for raspy breaths and loose threats.

The eyes stared back at him, unamused, unimpressed.

"You've been here before."

He panted, eyes aimlessly darting around, to miles and miles of nothing. Pitch black nothing. A void that he could never escape. The shallow water creeping into his wounds. His blood seeping out. There was always nothing.

The taste of iron, and the throbbing weight against his head, all too familiar. He hardly ever figures it out this quickly. He never has the memories to remind him. He's always gone in blind. Never self-aware, that it's happening again.

The dream he's been having for months on end.

This time.

He knew.

"I can't beat you." He croaked, as the shaft of a spear pushed against his windpipe.

He remembered.

"I never do." He winced, gasping for air and straining to push against it. His lungs ached, dry, piercing inhales that threatened to fog his brain. Sore, coarse hands fail to get a good enough grip to save himself.

Every death.

Every feeling,

He tried and choked, a pained cry making its way out his heaving chest.

of being impaled,

Desperately trying to get a hold before his fingers went numb, he tried again.

stabbed,

A laugh that tormented him, panic overbeating his heart, air feeling thin, with fear threatening to break him, he still tried.

torn apart,

and it did.

His hands gave away, his eyes stared blankly in defeat.

and broken.

The laughs subsided, no longer entertained by his attempts, still amused by his pain. All in focus, eyes that would give him his end.

His voice spoke back to him, a cruel, apathetic tone.

"It's too bad."

The figure shifted, unwavering hands firming on the spear. It's head tilting, with dark amber locks falling back over its shoulder. Revealing a deep, bloody slice in the right of its throat.

Grey eyes widened in disbelief, darting between wound and foe, barely able to stay open.

The red ones stared back at him, unfazed, nearing to his ear.

Hands clenched his hair, and in the mist of dizzy, weak thoughts, he heard it.

"You were so close."

His head was forced under.
And he drowned, like he always does in the end.

====

Tord woke up in a pained sweat. Aching from shooting up in bed, the faintness rushed to his head, as his heart paced, still feeling the blade in his chest. Clutching his shoulder and abdomen, waiting for the blood to pour out.

But there was no blade, and there was no blood, not a single drop. And he breathed out heavy, desperate breaths until he could regulate and remember, he's just in his room, and there hasn't been a spear in his life for years.