Entreißen [PaperHat]

Kirche

[GUYS I GOT MY FIRST FAN-ART FROM tablefilpapocalypse ON TUMBLR. LOOM AT MY BOY!!! HE'S SO PRETTY WTF]

The next morning Flug can't look Berith in the eye. Shame ran thick in his veins and kept his mouth shut through breakfast. Cäcilie didn't seem to notice how tense he was and chatted freely with Berith over their oatmeal. The thought of whatever had happened last night occurring again was terrifying. His own mouth had turned against him, speaking words that should not be spoken. Telling his guilty thoughts to someone he could not entirely trust. Something was definitely wrong again. Something horribly wrong in this small town. If the Father's and Esther's behavior hadn't tipped him off before, his own body betraying him had sent him over the edge. His body was still buzzing with adrenaline from last night, buzzing with horrified thoughts.

Once breakfast had been finished Cäcilie went back up into the loft to change. Flug, rather nervous to be somewhat alone with Berith, busied himself with fixing his bag and cleaning the lenses of his goggles. Lamenting the crack that ran along one. It had caused the implanted screen to stop working, leaving his eye visible. It was rather awkward looking, one side a black dot and the other a green eye. At least he still had them, and the crack didn't interrupt his vision too much. He wouldn't know what to do if he suddenly couldn't see.

When he'd finished with his goggles he slid his bag on and fretted at even the smallest wrinkle. It wasn't unlike when he started wearing them. For twenty minutes each morning he'd worry over the bag and ensuring that it was immaculate before putting it on and carefully slipping is goggles over it. The first time he had put it on hadn't exactly been in the best situation.

Everything was still bleeding and he swore he could feel and smell the gasoline on his skin and clothes. In all honesty, he was proud he even managed to claw out from the wreck and crawl long enough to get to a small town. He had to push his leg back into place to make sure the bone would set properly. The scream that had come from his had made three different apartment window's to light up. Someone had come down to investigate, but he had scrunched himself behind a trashcan until they left. There was no way of ensuring his missing posters weren't hung here. He only had to wait until his plane was discovered for him to be presumed dead. While he scavenged around for something to make a splint out of he had laughed. This isn't how I had thought of faking my own death, he'd thought, amused in a morbid way.

For a while he just laid there. Letting his body rest and his mind realize that he's looked death in the face and laughed. Maybe this was when his mind started fraying around the edges. When all morality was thrown out the window and replaced with the instinctive need to just survive. When daylight began to break he looked around again and spotted a dirty paper bag on top of a small trash bin. Crawling over he checked inside and took out a mostly eaten apple. Discarding the fruit he carefully ripped holes big enough for his eyes and slipped it over his head, placing his mostly shattered goggles on top.

There was a broken two-by-four leaning against another trashcan. He nearly laughs at how pathetic he must have looked, scavenging around in the trash. Securing the two pieces of wood on either side of his leg with a torn up T-Shirt. His DIY splint was crude and the wood too long on one side that it jabbed into his inner thigh. But it would have to do. He needed to be able to move in the day. While his wanna-be splint might raise concern in itself, it was much better to be able to move at all than to be whisked away to some hospital and delivered back into his father's hands.

Cäcilie's shoes click as she descends the stairs, hands messing with snowy white hair. Berith had moved from the kitchen to lounging on the couch, tossing the TV remote between his hands.