1 views
An Angel's Respite (Chapter Twenty-Six)
Alexander stayed there. Too stunned to move or talk, or look away from the place he had once been.
Traitor.
They chimed in unison screeching the word like a curse, or a celebration, or maybe both.
«»«»«»«»«»
Traitor, traitor, traitor.
«»«»«»«»«»
Alexander slowly got up from the floor—then fell to his knees, but continued to try after the third he put as much weight as he could on the table next to him. The monsters, ignoring him completely, continued to protest and conspire. He didn't know how to stop them from being so Godsdamned loud, he wished he did—but still after everything he was back to where he started. After a moment most settled down again, tired themselves out—as they always did in the end.
Alexander looked down to the table he rested on, blood smeared the edge of it where he placed his hand Hester's blood. Your fault the monsters chimed venomous joy dripping from their echoing voices.
«»«»«»«»«»
Did you think you could block out the inevitable? Run away from your fate?
«»«»«»«»«»
It rang in his head making the world spin for a moment, "I thought you would be kind, and let me live in the delusion for once." Alexander snapped at them, holding back the urge to throw something out the window.
In response the monsters laughter hysterically rings in Alexander's mind, giving him a headache of stress as he picks up a page ripped from the book he and Hester broke in their tussle.
It was the book Alexander was reading for Wilbur that night before. . . everything, Alexander wanted to rip it apart and toss it in the fire, that—after everything was roaring with flames. Though Alexander still felt cold, cold and fragile, like if he fell his legs would shatter into a million different bits and pieces.
He was just so cold.
Too cold to ignore it or to think, it was painful in a way that made his lungs hurt with ever new breath. Like a rope around his torso getting tighter and tighter every time he breathed in and trying to restrain him after every breath out.
He tightened his grip on the page, and turned to see the room for the first time, looking at every corner and floorboard, every broken piece of furniture and pages ripped on every surface imaginable.
He was so lost, and confused—he felt stupid and childish. Why couldn't this just work? Why did there always have to be a catch, a glimpse of the peace after the war, then it's lost all over again.
He signed, long and drawn out. Then began picking item after item cleaning the whole room, the monsters whined from the tedious effort. The ringing silence began filled with soft chatter from them, then one asked restless and loudly.
«»«»«»«»«»
What are we going to do, now?
«»«»«»«»«»
Alexander heard the question while picking up another sheet of paper—and couldn't keep his mouth shut. "I do not know." He said truthfully, probably one of the most truthful things he's said in a very long time. The monsters didn't seem to care all that much—more talking about the fight, the blood on Alexander's hand and Wilbur's 'disappearance' they saw what...
Traitor.
They chimed in unison screeching the word like a curse, or a celebration, or maybe both.
«»«»«»«»«»
Traitor, traitor, traitor.
«»«»«»«»«»
Alexander slowly got up from the floor—then fell to his knees, but continued to try after the third he put as much weight as he could on the table next to him. The monsters, ignoring him completely, continued to protest and conspire. He didn't know how to stop them from being so Godsdamned loud, he wished he did—but still after everything he was back to where he started. After a moment most settled down again, tired themselves out—as they always did in the end.
Alexander looked down to the table he rested on, blood smeared the edge of it where he placed his hand Hester's blood. Your fault the monsters chimed venomous joy dripping from their echoing voices.
«»«»«»«»«»
Did you think you could block out the inevitable? Run away from your fate?
«»«»«»«»«»
It rang in his head making the world spin for a moment, "I thought you would be kind, and let me live in the delusion for once." Alexander snapped at them, holding back the urge to throw something out the window.
In response the monsters laughter hysterically rings in Alexander's mind, giving him a headache of stress as he picks up a page ripped from the book he and Hester broke in their tussle.
It was the book Alexander was reading for Wilbur that night before. . . everything, Alexander wanted to rip it apart and toss it in the fire, that—after everything was roaring with flames. Though Alexander still felt cold, cold and fragile, like if he fell his legs would shatter into a million different bits and pieces.
He was just so cold.
Too cold to ignore it or to think, it was painful in a way that made his lungs hurt with ever new breath. Like a rope around his torso getting tighter and tighter every time he breathed in and trying to restrain him after every breath out.
He tightened his grip on the page, and turned to see the room for the first time, looking at every corner and floorboard, every broken piece of furniture and pages ripped on every surface imaginable.
He was so lost, and confused—he felt stupid and childish. Why couldn't this just work? Why did there always have to be a catch, a glimpse of the peace after the war, then it's lost all over again.
He signed, long and drawn out. Then began picking item after item cleaning the whole room, the monsters whined from the tedious effort. The ringing silence began filled with soft chatter from them, then one asked restless and loudly.
«»«»«»«»«»
What are we going to do, now?
«»«»«»«»«»
Alexander heard the question while picking up another sheet of paper—and couldn't keep his mouth shut. "I do not know." He said truthfully, probably one of the most truthful things he's said in a very long time. The monsters didn't seem to care all that much—more talking about the fight, the blood on Alexander's hand and Wilbur's 'disappearance' they saw what...
