PROLOGUE
[ HE TAKES A BREATH. ]
* * *
He takes a breath, just to check if he's alive. He measures it in his lungs to see if it will stay, if his heart is still alive in the gigantic cavity he calls a chest. He hears a beat, then two. Then three-four. Five-six. He wraps his arms around himself to feel his insides tremble, fingers clawing at the sadness thrumming through his veins. He wants to close his eyes but he's afraid of what he'll see, because the outside is broken but the inside is dead.
[And he doesn't want to acknowledge that. Not yet.]
He takes a breath, just to check if he's whole. He lets it out slowly, slowly, slowly, it'll go away, it'll leave, it'll go quietly like all things, and you won't realize how much it hurts until you can't take another.
[Can't.]
[Take.]
[Another.]
He takes a breath, just to check if he's okay. He clutches at the blankets, and repeats "okay" in his head, letting the thought sing him a lullaby so he can sing along. But his mouth won't open, his voice won't work, his words can't explain the fighting and surrendering in his bones. It makes him ache, makes him physically ache, from the point of his nose to the tips of his toes.
[It aches.]
He takes a breath, just to check if he can take another. And another. And another. And another, because the body will fight when the soul has surrendered. The body will keep you alive when the soul wants to die. The body will love you when the soul loves no one, not the world, or the people, or the invincible self.
[What the soul hates the most, is the body that won't die.]
He takes a breath, just to check is he's still invincible. If he's cold from the sticks and numb from the stones. If he's a dead man walking or an alive man dying. He clutches at his skin, clutches at the warmth, and the feelings blossom but he stomps then down. Enough, he's had enough, no more, no more.
[Please.]
He takes a breath, just to check if it'll make him feel better. It doesn't. Of course not. He wants a breath on him not in him, warmth over him not from him, heartbeats to him not for him. He has always wanted what he can never have, and he wonders which will come first: him taking or the world giving?
[The world doesn't like him.]
He takes a breath, just to check if he has the courage to stop taking the other.
[The answer, as always, is a no.]
He takes a breath, just to check if he will self-destruct.
* * *
Author's Note: I don't really have anything to say except this was written at 4am last night. I couldn't sleep (gee, I wonder why).
THERE IS A READING/RECORDING/POETRY SLAM THING FOR THIS made by the awesome @Sailing-Ships. I've linked it in the external link; you guys should really listen to it, it broke my heart and just -- feels. All. Over. The. Place.
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sleepless, loveless
Short Story"Sometimes happiness feels like a chore." A short story chronicling the relationships (and lack thereof) of Drew; in which nights and days are spent curled up in the tear-and-food-stained sheets, with and without the warmth of another living soul, b...
