Forget Me

A scream rips through his chest, up through his throat and out into the stale, musty air. His back arches in a way it’s not meant to, as if he’s being stabbed in the ribs with a branding iron. He screams, and for a very long time, no one hears.

His eyes are closed so tightly, his breathing harsh and deep, and he can’t regain control. Nightmares course through his veins and into his sight, shredding the pleasant dreams he’d had so many months ago. His blood boils and curdles and refuses to spread throughout his body, making his pale hands cold and icy- and he immediately hopes the next time he spots his reflection in the glass window, it won’t be blue skin and red eyes that stare back.

He screams so loudly that his voice becomes raspy and coarse, cursing the bright light that shined so unforgiving through the cell all hours of the day. He doesn’t know how to keep track of the time. He has no sense of time. He has no need of time.

But time knows how to use him. 

His joints ache, his bones yell in their disuse. His heart tries to wither away, but somehow his mind wills it to keep beating.

Tears run raggedly down his cheeks into the stained pillowcase where he buries his face, hoping to chase away everything in the darkness.

He doesn’t rest anymore. He doesn’t sleep. It’s rare for him to close his eyes for fear of seeing something of his past creep up and cause another round of screaming that his body can’t handle.

He’d made the mistake of dreaming.

Somehow, in this horrid cell, he’d been able to imagine a place that wasn’t so terrible. A place that had meaning and life and an abundance of an emotion he couldn’t remember. He’d closed his heavy eyelids, taken a deep breath and steadied his nerves.

And without realizing it- he’d drifted off into a peaceful slumber where he found a person he hadn’t thought of since before he’d taken the throne of Asgard.

Sigyn Iwaldisdottir.

He dreamt of her beauty in the bright setting sun, when he’d often watch her tend to the Queen’s Garden. He dreamt about how she would always glance his way, a smirk gracing her soft features, tempting him more than a child at a sweets table.

He dreamt about the time he’d snuck up behind her when no one was around, in the dimming light, and pulled her into his frame with the slightest of ease. How she had willingly accepted his invitation to a picnic the following day with a giggle.

They’d been friends since childhood, and that’s all the kingdom knew (or would ever know, if Loki had his choice), but over the past months they’d been sneaking out to the fields that danced with fireflies of all colors of the Bifrost, or to the library where they’d nestle next to the fire and read until they dozed off.

They told no one of their love affair, fearing that Odin would force them apart because of Sigyn’s place in the Aesir government. As the princess of the previous ruling family, neither of the two young adults had thought anyone would agree with their relationship.

Thor, Frigga, and Odin included.

Forget them, his mind screams, forget all of the tortuous love and meaningless tales they'd whispered on warm Aesir nights. Do not remember the long walks through the gardens with your mother- his mind spits the word like a vile poison. Do not dare think of when your father seemed to look down at you with gleaming eyes, proud of the magic you'd accomplished.

And above all- he begins to yell into the white lights, finally sitting up and standing- "Never remember the pathetic show that your idiot brother paraded to you, as if he cared! As if he wished you'd be able to stand up to his height- be at his filthy level!"

No one answers back, and he waits. He waits for a rebuttal. Someone to simply dare to question what he had thought. 

He screams, his fist pounding at the magic thrumming glass wall, "I am not a monster!"

"You!"

Tears run faster and farther, anger fills and extends to every pore of his body.

Perhaps he'll break through this wall- then they'd see. They'd finally understand.

"You are the ones who have done this to me!"

His dying voice recedes back into his mind. He withdraws his hand from the pane of glass.

And he slides to the floor, and mourns his own death.

~~

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