DO OVER
Her hands; soft and warm. Hands of strength and security, love and serenity. Slender fingers tightly gripping his, the bearers of good tidings and new life. Hands that held him at the start and nursed him into a healthy, lively boy. Hands that pinched his cheeks to make him smile when he pouted. Hands that held his own through the nightmares. Her hands.
His hands; rough and firm. Hands of strength and security, love and devotion. Years of work, a childhood stolen, hardened the skin but not his heart. Hands that carried him high above shoulders. Hands that rustled his hair after a good day. Hands that told stories, old tales of monsters and heroes in the night. His hands
And, despite the blood that dripped through their fingers and onto the dirt on which they lay, those hands still held on. They held on tight with pleading severity, unrelenting vigor. They wouldn't let him go—can never let him go.
He felt their pain, he felt the agony in their cries, he felt the ground beneath them soaking up their last moments. He felt himself in every drop of blood that spilled, felt everything that made him 'him' fall away yet remain; a place in between, a state of stillness; nothing, but something.
These hands were his anchor, the sails against the wind, and the raging tide against the hull all at once. He was in-between. They wouldn't let go.
Her hands. His hands. Their blood. Staining, sinking in, festering, remaining. They were something, while he was nothing.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
He felt himself in the blood. He was the blood.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Deep inside, a voice told him to run. He couldn't. He didn't want to.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
He felt himself in their cries, in all their pain, in every speck of dirt underneath them, taking away what made them everything. Something, but nothing.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
You have to stop doing this. Why are you doing this? You're
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
He is their blood. They are his blood. He is his own blood. Blood binds him, to freedom; to hell.
You are nothing. You are everything. Their death is your burden to bear.
And their hands will never let you go.
YOU ARE READING
Soul Bound: Genesis
Teen FictionSoul /n./ the being implanted into a Handler to be carried until optimal conditions, in which they can manifest into humans again and live alongside their Handler. Handler /n./ the being to carry a second Soul until they can come to live in harmony...
