Unedited again, whoops. New charrie. Still working out the kinks. Rant writing probably isn't the best way to do that, but >.< --
P a i n
The word seared across his mind. It was big, bold, enough to cause panic in the man. His instinct screamed at him to flee, to desert the scene before the sensations could become more intense.
Fighting against the instinct for some reason Age had yet to discover, his feet remained stuck in place. It was if his own body wanted him to suffer through this, as if it enjoyed the immense amount of stress it was causing him. Age wouldn't count himself as surprised if this really was the case. His body and mind had always been again him. They forgot the most crucial facts, caused him pain without noticeable reason. It was if he had gone to war with the two.
And it was clear who was currently losing.
It was like pitting an ant against an elephant in a fight to the death. It was nowhere near fair, but evidently, whoever had arranged it wasn't one to bother with such things. Age was nowhere near strong enough, mentally or physically, to face the kind of stuff his own person threw at him on a daily basis.
He was breaking at an alarming rate.
And noone seemed to care.
He drew in a deep breath, let it out again. He knew that battling the thoughts and feelings was a lost cause, but in the moment, he couldn't help but try. Some part of him yearned to be free of his body's hold, and at the moment, it was arguably the only thing keeping him going. If not for it, he would have been six feet under long ago, whether by his own devices or a final, unexpected blast from his own body.
Why this piece had decided to side with him, Age didn't know. He had never thought about it too much. In his mind it was like the nature of a dream- you could enjoy it while yuou were in it, but if you ever put too much thought to it, it would disappear.
Right now, this piece was urging him to fight back, to unfreeze his stiff body and step the rest of the way over to the podium. In it's small, comparably quiet voice, it was telling him he could do this.
Age chose to lock onto this. It was the one thing in this world going his way. Slowly but surely it grew stronger, and he found himself taking the smallest of steps trowwrds the brown podium awaiting him. He could feel many pairs of eyes on him. The judge, behind an expression so stern it could make even the rowdiest of people submit, the juries bored looks that quietly urged him on so that they could get this over with, and the steely glares of the two guards escorting him to the stand.
In his current mindset, none of this bothered him. What would have been enough to cripple him most days was only making him stronger today, and he was taking that next step.
You're winning, The voice encouraged him, in it's small and gentle tone.
Another step. He could feel the stares becoming a tad more intense. He was almost there...
He faltered. His gaze swung up, this mind's voice becoming louder as he allowed himself a glance at those around him. The negative voices grew louder, and he felt his frame shrink down into itself.
Look, One of the dark voices hissed out, it's voice far louder than the positive tones of the other. No one is here for you. They don't care anymore. Your mother; do you see her out there? Age couldn't help but look. To his dismay, he found nothing.
She doesn't care what becomes of her "precious" son. She thinks you should pay, just like all the others in this room. She wants you to be thrown into that hell hole. She doesn't care.
Age let himself sag further down, dropping his gaze again. He couldn't do this. It was too hard. The voices began to cackle, already marking this as another victory on their overly full score sheet. Age dropped to the cold embrace of the floor. He curled up into the smallest position he could muster, under the impression that maybe if he just made himself small enough, it would all go away.
He could hear the annoyed drone of the Judge's voice as she ordered he be removed from the room until a later date, the barely contained groans of the jury, feel the rough hands of the guards hauling him up and back towards his cell.
And beneath it all, the voice, quiet as ever.
Next time. You'll get 'em next time.
