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Her brow furrowed slightly as she listened to the man sitting beside the fireplace speak. Like a lullaby slowing down his voice was deep and low, rumbling from his throat. The sound of the fire crackling from its resting place danced with the steady rythem of the rain on the window. She lowered her gaze to her folded hands on her lap, lacing her fingers together her gaze was drawn to the broken nails the rough edges were deep and had began to crack further down into the frail nails. Blood lined the cracks in her knuckles and ran down to the palm in a dried trail until it disappeared, wiped away. She shifted in her seat forcing the silence to come to an end as her clothes rustled and brushed against the fabric.
"Was it worth it?" He asked softly shifting his weight so he could lightly jab the poker into the red and black logs.
She weighed his question carefully and looked up curiously, biting her lip as she tried to come up with the right words, "why wouldn't it be?" She replied and frowned slightly as she thought of all the things he could say to prove her wrong. Her eyes probed the his back asking him polietly to turn around in their own silent way, she wanted to see his expression no matter how cold or unfeeling it might be.
"Why would it be?"
There it came, he flipped the scipt as quickly as he could. He had learned early on that the only way to get somewhere, or if you wanted a chance to get the conversation going the way you wanted it to, you had to answer a question with exactly that, a question. He rammed the point of the poker into the logs, knocking the top one over and onto the metal brace that held it, where it split and crumbled though the bars. Flames lept and bounded upwards licking at the blackened bricks. The heat hit his flushed cheeks and damp forehead, which his hair had taken to clinging to as it fell out of place.
She licked her lips and unlaced her fingers to rest her arms on the arm rests. Not that it did much good, for as soon as they settled there they griped onto the edges with the same painful hold she had on her own hands earlier. "Well for one it happened! The whole thing, it went off without a hitch and we are all still alive as far as I can tell."
The sound of annoyance filled her voice with power and emotion, the two things she had been holding back on ever since she stepped into the room. Almost immedately she felt her breath catch in her throat and she lowered her head again. Her hair fell in front of her face like a veil as she stared into her lap again. Ashamed she traced the creases and wrinkles in her skirt, trying to take some relief in the fact that there was some imperfection in the world. She resisted the urge to smooth the skirt with her hands, that would signify the fact that she was indeed uneasy around him, and that is exactly what he wanted. She after all had reason to feel that way. He had been the one who had started the whole affair. And he hadn't given her reason yet to trust him, to feel safe around him.
His jaw clenched together, teeth grining against each other in frustration, "sometimes it is better off to be dead." He hissed and turned his penatrating glare on her in a fit of anger. What he couldn't understand was how she could be so unsympethic. Yes they were still alive and yes they had gotten in and out unharmed physically, but mentally they were all dead, destroyed. He had seen the blank eyes of men and women alike, the tired bags under the eyes of children and the old wrinkled faces of men that desired death far more than they desired life.
She flinched and pressed her back against the back of the chair, sinking her body into the soft cushion, "you say that now but the people who have died don't think so. The death of a hero is no way to die, it is painful and you are soon forgotten afterward. The poor souls who fell into such a fate should have run away instead." She spat and blinked her eyes rapidly to hold back the tears that threatened to fall from her lashes. "Do you wish that on anyone?" She questioned and pushed her back strait from its slouching position as it began to pain her.
"Where the bloody hell would we be if we all ran?" He demanded sharply before letting out a long soft sigh that could barely be heard but the sound still reached her ears, tired and sad and ready to give up. He had been searching for the easy way out for sometime now, a way to throw in the white flag without having to deal with the pain of someone else dying. "Nowhere." He answered himself and took a step towards where she sat bracing the poker on his shoulder. "Tell me girl, do you still believe in fairy tales?"
She flinched, her father had asked her that very same question some time ago. The day she fell sick and lay in bed with a fever that threatened to burn her body to ashes. She was eight years old then, too young to know what life was truely, but old enough to have her childhood stolen from her. "No."
"Then you do not believe in me." He whispered and looked out the window, and slowly she began to see though his body as if he was only a ghost. His feet slowly faded into the air the process continuing until it reached his thin waist, then moving up and over his abdomen, the invisiblity consuming him like a hungry snake until all that she could see was his head.
"Wait!" She called leaping up from the chair and crossing over to the last remaining part of him was. Her hands clenched by her sides in fear as his head became harder and harder to see. Then with a soft sigh and what appeared to be a shimmer in the air he was gone. She could still feel the warmth of the air that had surrounded him, she could still smell his soft scent and she could still she his saddened face as if it were there before her. "Come back!" She called and picked up the fallen poker and held it to her stomach. "Please?"
 Tattered W!ngs · Sat Nov 26, 2005 @ 11:05pm · 0 Comments |
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