These Paper Pages

To Old Gods, Old Wars, and a Lifetime

what will become of them when the gods are dead and all that’s left are the memories he carries from one lifetime to another?

•°•°•

Isen has seen death in every life he has lived. He remembers where it all began, he sees it in his dreams, memories of so long ago branded in his mind and engraved in his heart. It starts in a temple embroidered with golden linings and blood filling the carved symbols of the altar, two dead bodies, slit wrists, and a priest. Isen remembers the resurrection, of him and a friend (a lover), he can no longer look in the eye. They served the same god, they were the chosen champions and as champions, they carried the god’s curse (the god begs to differ, he calls it a gift and yet a thousand years and more, Isen has never seen it as anything but a curse).

He and John remembers everything from the beginning to every other lives they have lived (and will live, he adds), and yet Isen wishes he doesn’t. He wishes to forget yesterday, the millennium of lifetimes he has lived so he could live today and not feel out of place, so he could live as if he was born to never die time and time again in the hands of the people he has and will cherish in this life to another. He wishes to forget so he does not look and feel only pain when his gaze falls on messy red hair and golden eyes. He wishes to forget so he does not feel only sorrow when he sees golden hair or long pink tresses and only see it matted in blood, their skin pale, and breath stolen away by the soft kiss of death.

He wishes to forget John so he has excuses to love him again like he once did, thousands of lifetime ago but they both remember everything and their memories are tainted by bittersweet victories and guilt and remorse. He wishes to forget Blyke and the aching longing he feels so deep in his bones because Blyke remembers nothing and each time they meet in another lifetime, he is but a stranger while Isen remembers everything and loves him all the same.

we were never meant to see eye to eye
not this life or the next

John finds him hidden away by the thick tree trunk, his back slumped against the rough bark, the weight of his past on his shoulders, heart and mind. Quietly, John slips besides him, their shoulders touching. He seeks out his hand but the moment he finds it, Isen pulls his hand away and emptiness blooms in his chest.

"You can't keep avoiding them." He states, quiet and tamed, expression stripped of that harshness and callous he wears so often.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion." Isen snips, curling in on himself, arms wrapped around his knees as he brings them to his chest, chin resting on top of them. "Why are you here, Julius?" His chest burns the moment his name leaves his lips, how long has it been since he has last spoken of his name? His real name.

Isen can't remember, he stopped counting the lives they have lived through.

Besides him John stiffens then relaxes, a ghost of a smile tugging his lips before it promptly disappears as if it was never there to begin with. He closes his eyes and once again, he reaches for his hand and this time succeeds in doing so. He holds his hand, fingers interweaving with each other, they fit so well, like two pieces of a puzzle falling in their rightful place. John rests his head on his shoulder, "I'm here because you're alone." And lonely, but John bites his tongue.

Isen hates the pleasantly warm buzz emanating from his chest. He hates that he misses his skin against his, that he fills the void he feels in his chest. John encapsulates the emptiness, the aching loneliness he feels when he is with familiar faces. Isen hates the relief he feels that John (Julius, he corrects) is here with him, that he is here to share the burden of living again and again while they carry the memories of their past lives; Isen hates the warmth, the fondness that still finds a way to surface from the bitterness he feels because John is here, he always was and he always will be, just as he had promised from the very beginning.

"Just leave."

John stays and holds him close. Isen wishes he didn't find comfort in his arms, but he does and he hates himself for it because Isen, Isen knows that whatever happens, John will keep his promises, he will be his anchor from this life to the next. John is his constant and Isen hates the relief it brings him, he wishes it could be different.

you still feel like home
but I can never return
to your arms again

Goodnight.

Isen wishes he had said something more than goodnight to him that night.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Tomorrow will not come, not for Blyke nor for Remi; tomorrow is gone, tomorrow is dead. Just like them. Isen runs and runs and runs, his vision clouds with tears, static ringing in his ears, and he runs and runs and runs till his legs can no longer carry him. His knees buckle and he falls and everything hurts and burns and aches. Isen struggles for breath, struggles to hold himself together but he can't.

Isen breaks, emotions overflowing. Sobs rack his body as he curls in on himself, forehead resting on the pavement and he screams. Screams till his throat is raw and hoarse, screams till he physically can't. He lost him again. He lost them again. He will lose them again and again, and there is nothing he can do to stop it.

That's how John finds him. In slow, deliberate steps, he closes in on him, kneeling in front of the amber-haired male. John places both hands on his shoulders and gently, he lifts him up and brings him into his arms, holding him tight.

"I'm here." He whispers, voice quivering as he spoke.

Isen wraps his arms around him, grabbing a fistful of John's clothes as he holds on to him and weeps. He feels nothing but emptiness growing in his chest, an emptiness that burns and aches, and in between the sobs and incoherent mumbling, the ache and numbness, Isen whispers.

"I can't take this anymore." His voice is hoarse and rough and muffled. "I'm so tired. I'm so goddamn tired."

"I know." John closes his eyes, resting his head on Isen's shoulder.

"I never asked for this, Julius. We never wanted this." Bitterness, pain, spite. John can hear it all in his tone as he speaks.

"I know." And he does know. They never asked to be chosen, they never asked for these memories, they never asked for this fate, and yet they will continue to carry the burdens on their shoulder from one lifetime to another.

"I want to go home. I want to forget." John agrees silently, but they can never go home. Home is long gone, the sands of time buried it a long, long time ago and they had both watched as the cities crumble till nothing remained but ash and embers and the billowing smoke.

The gods are dead, but the war does not die with them and neither does the memories or the curse. The gods are dead and yet the relics, the proof of their existence will remain.

the sky is but
a graveyard of stars.
that's where your wishes lie
unheard by gods.