I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm not dead, or at least I don't think I am. It's kinda hard to tell some days lol. I wrote a thing in the middle of Econ. I was being a bad student, nothing too out of the ordinary I suppose. There are all these words in my head and hopefully, I'll get to write them all down for you all to see. One day. Eventually. But for now, there's this.
With all the love,
Sunset
Disclaimer: I don't own Vocaloid in any way, shape of form. The beginning quote is credited to Emily Horne and Joey Comeau, the creators of A Softer World
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"Everyone should have a contingency plan for when the dead rise. Mine is to see my brother again."
Gasping for breath, heart thundering in your ears, you hear…you hear…skin, slick with sweat, you can't see, you feel…you feel…breathe, breathe, sheets crumpled between your fingertips, can taste it on your tongue, you are…you are…Alive.
"Hey….Rin….Are you feeling ok?"
Blinking against the sunlight, you turn towards Luka. Pretty face drawn in concern, hair tumbling over her shoulders, the images don't match. Taking a deep breath, filling your lungs and slowly letting it go, what you see doesn't go away. And you smile.
Tapping out a beat, humming out a little nonsense song, you can almost see it. Just a little more and you'll be able to do it, the ghost of a memory aligning perfectly. Hands laying over yours, it's ruined, everything stops and there's Miku, a frown on her lips. Words, hovering, unsaid, but honestly, "You should stop."
Curled under the shade of the tree, the grass whispers their secrets and you whisper back. Brushing your cheeks, your eyes, the expanse of your skin, it all sounds familiar, like nothing's changed. And maybe, just maybe, nothing did.
The house is empty and you hate it. It's lonely. You're lonely. You wish for many things. And you remember it all and you know that you'd take none of it back. Turning on all the lights, the allure of life, the idea of moths to a flame, you hope that he'll finally come back to you tonight.
And when the door shudders, groaning against an intrusive weight, you know, you know, it's finally time.
Standing there, at the end of the hall, waiting, waiting, you remember oh so well those moments frozen in time. The way his blood shone against the lights, gleaming on the floor, casual streams dripping from his fingertips, he'd never looked so beautiful. And you hear…you hear…the way he screamed, the stilted breaths caught in his chest until there was nothing left at all.
And when the door crashes down, splinters flying inwards, the night air rushing in, it feels like…it feels like….seeing his silhouette under the moonlight, you can taste it on your tongue, deteriorating and rotting flesh, clumps of grass and dirt mixed into his hair and clothes, his eyes shine as they look at you and it feels like….it feels like home.
Heart thundering in your ears, centimeters from your face, breath like something gone bad, the earth and everything in between and you are… the only heart that's beating is yours and you are…Alive.
Stumbling into your arms, his skin is cold and sagging. You whisper, "Welcome back." Bones creaking, poking into you, you admit, "I've missed you." And when his arms finally wrap around you, that familiar weight, just slightly distorted, he whispers, "I….for…give…you."
But honestly, you've never regretted a thing.
