[ the pounding of his own blood in his ears as he takes off - run run run! - is enough to drown out the first sounds of the consuming, but it's impossible not to hear as he starts to escape, as his body starts to think maybe he can survive this. he doesn't know if they screamed at all, but he hears the sounds of tearing and splashing and somehow that's worse. shouldn't it be louder, when someone dies?
if there were such a thing as true virtue in the world - if things like compassion and faith and justice and love really haunted this earth - there'd be more examples wouldn't there? someone who cares enough to take a stand, a reason to believe that this place is worth saving. but every vision, every dream, every moment walking the waking world has been filled with scenes of violence and hatred. burning bodies and vultures who pick at the remains. maybe there are good people somewhere, but those people are born luckier, with the world on their side. they have beauty and bravery and friendships worth dying for. they have compasses in their heads and the power to inspire others to follow, they remembered to bring the right weapons, they cared enough to be saved.
but at least in derry there are only the baser values. greed and rage and sloth and gluttony. adults who are supposed to care who only see what they care to, which is nothing. that every child in derry is an acceptable sacrifice to a miserable life. he is an acceptable sacrifice on the altar of derry. easy to forget, a nail hammered down. sent here to wither and die and be forgotten in some basement. and he is not above the rest of the sinners. miserable and cowardly and envious. if he was a better person, maybe they all could have deserved to survive.
he's never been one to have regrets. regrets are for when the world slows to a crawl, when the fizzle and spark of constant motion fades and leaves you an empty thing, the great heavy pendulum swinging to the other side of his mind. when the great dark beast comes to press its paw against his chest and force him to the ground. but it's difficult not to regret this. he wishes he had stayed. if only because then it would be over, then he wouldn't be hearing the splash and tear in his mind, and thinking of the sun. of rain. of storms. of laughter and freedom and justice. of twin moons. a spark of flame.
he doesn't fight, or even try and escape again at the end.
sorry, del.
sorry, jen.
but the last thought is anger. rage.
he should have burned the whole place to the ground while he had the chance. a blaze bright and loud enough that no one could ignore it ever again. the match goes out. ]
[ all of del's fear was extinguished along with the light in his brother's eyes.
he'd never been afraid of most things other kids were afraid of anyway — scary movies, the dark, rattlesnakes, bullies, getting in trouble — because he could never afford to be when he had someone else he had to be strong for. getting passed around from one house to the next where they'd always been treated like someone's obligation, never like family, he'd learned early on that they could only really rely on themselves; if they didn't want to be crushed by the world's indifference toward them, he would have to be the unshakable pillar supporting them both.
that was the one fear he'd never been able to escape — that he'd fuck up and bax would get hurt or lost or worse. that he would buckle under all the weight that never should have been put on the shoulders of a single kid. and that fear was so constant and pervasive that it ate away at him a little more every day; no matter how hard he tried to steel himself, he'd only ever be able to last so long with a slowly eroding foundation. jen and andy had helped fill some of the cracks, but there was only so much they ever could have done. this wasn't their house to fix anyway.
bax is gone, and it no longer matters if the pillar comes crashing down. it's... freeing, even if it's a freedom he never, ever wanted. freedom from the single fear that's worn on him all his life, the freedom to break and let loose with everything he has.
it's not much. he's under no illusion otherwise. he vaguely remembers bill's advice in that moment as he rushes the monster, about using his imagination to fight this thing. maybe this useless nail file could have been a legendary sword fit for the steward of gondor if he'd been able to believe. but boromir was never supposed to outlive faramir. it's better this way.
in a hopeless fight against a monster that must represent fear itself, he feels none; not as it picks him up and toys with him, not as it rips out little pieces of him, not as it slowly and unrelentingly pulls on his hair and he feels every fiber in his neck straining and ready to snap.
in the end, this was where they'd ended up. down in the sewers with the rest of the refuse. with the decaying goldfish people had brought into their homes with fanfare only to give them the bare minimum of what they needed to continue existing until they could dump them out and move on with their lives, free from the burden of being obligated to care. the world always puts you in your proper place one way or another.
that's all right. this world never wanted them, but he doesn't want this world either. his neck finally gives way, and the final thought he has is that at least he won't be another bill. ]
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holyspirits) wrote2025-03-09 04:46 pm
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if there were such a thing as true virtue in the world - if things like compassion and faith and justice and love really haunted this earth - there'd be more examples wouldn't there? someone who cares enough to take a stand, a reason to believe that this place is worth saving. but every vision, every dream, every moment walking the waking world has been filled with scenes of violence and hatred. burning bodies and vultures who pick at the remains. maybe there are good people somewhere, but those people are born luckier, with the world on their side. they have beauty and bravery and friendships worth dying for. they have compasses in their heads and the power to inspire others to follow, they remembered to bring the right weapons, they cared enough to be saved.
but at least in derry there are only the baser values. greed and rage and sloth and gluttony. adults who are supposed to care who only see what they care to, which is nothing. that every child in derry is an acceptable sacrifice to a miserable life. he is an acceptable sacrifice on the altar of derry. easy to forget, a nail hammered down. sent here to wither and die and be forgotten in some basement. and he is not above the rest of the sinners. miserable and cowardly and envious. if he was a better person, maybe they all could have deserved to survive.
he's never been one to have regrets. regrets are for when the world slows to a crawl, when the fizzle and spark of constant motion fades and leaves you an empty thing, the great heavy pendulum swinging to the other side of his mind. when the great dark beast comes to press its paw against his chest and force him to the ground. but it's difficult not to regret this. he wishes he had stayed. if only because then it would be over, then he wouldn't be hearing the splash and tear in his mind, and thinking of the sun. of rain. of storms. of laughter and freedom and justice. of twin moons. a spark of flame.
he doesn't fight, or even try and escape again at the end.
sorry, del.
sorry, jen.
but the last thought is anger. rage.
he should have burned the whole place to the ground while he had the chance. a blaze bright and loud enough that no one could ignore it ever again. the match goes out. ]
no subject
he'd never been afraid of most things other kids were afraid of anyway — scary movies, the dark, rattlesnakes, bullies, getting in trouble — because he could never afford to be when he had someone else he had to be strong for. getting passed around from one house to the next where they'd always been treated like someone's obligation, never like family, he'd learned early on that they could only really rely on themselves; if they didn't want to be crushed by the world's indifference toward them, he would have to be the unshakable pillar supporting them both.
that was the one fear he'd never been able to escape — that he'd fuck up and bax would get hurt or lost or worse. that he would buckle under all the weight that never should have been put on the shoulders of a single kid. and that fear was so constant and pervasive that it ate away at him a little more every day; no matter how hard he tried to steel himself, he'd only ever be able to last so long with a slowly eroding foundation. jen and andy had helped fill some of the cracks, but there was only so much they ever could have done. this wasn't their house to fix anyway.
bax is gone, and it no longer matters if the pillar comes crashing down. it's... freeing, even if it's a freedom he never, ever wanted. freedom from the single fear that's worn on him all his life, the freedom to break and let loose with everything he has.
it's not much. he's under no illusion otherwise. he vaguely remembers bill's advice in that moment as he rushes the monster, about using his imagination to fight this thing. maybe this useless nail file could have been a legendary sword fit for the steward of gondor if he'd been able to believe. but boromir was never supposed to outlive faramir. it's better this way.
in a hopeless fight against a monster that must represent fear itself, he feels none; not as it picks him up and toys with him, not as it rips out little pieces of him, not as it slowly and unrelentingly pulls on his hair and he feels every fiber in his neck straining and ready to snap.
in the end, this was where they'd ended up. down in the sewers with the rest of the refuse. with the decaying goldfish people had brought into their homes with fanfare only to give them the bare minimum of what they needed to continue existing until they could dump them out and move on with their lives, free from the burden of being obligated to care. the world always puts you in your proper place one way or another.
that's all right. this world never wanted them, but he doesn't want this world either. his neck finally gives way, and the final thought he has is that at least he won't be another bill. ]