When He Falls, It Hurts
When he falls, it hurts.
The air is knocked out of his lungs, his breath hitches, and his mind swirls. Colours of the world bleed away. All that is left is black, and white, and grey.
His head pounds away, adding a rhythm to the dreary silence of the night. He does not like it, but it is a welcome change.
Taunting voices echo in his mind, somewhat dulling the throbs. He gets up, he tries to. And the sheer monotony of things makes his head pain even more.
He is not bothered by it any longer. It takes just too much of an effort to do anything anymore. Bother is something reserved for those who can afford it, and he is just too poor to do so.
The world around him whirls; consciousness comes as both – a boon, and a bane. He staggers a bit, blinks, trying to make sense of the grey that engulfs him, and his prey.
When he falls, it hurts.
It hurts, like always. But he can no longer bring himself to care about it; because the pain is oh so much, but his life is oh so dull. It hurts even more to think about it – what could have been, and what has been. For, it is just a trap of his mind. 'What if' and 'It could have been' are just pretty phrases belonging to books and stories. His life's fairytale has already faded to nothingness as it is; there is no happy end in sight, only endless waters of turmoil.
The fist connects with his chin, a sickening crack resonates, and he is thrown back into the wall. He is hurt, but his will is not. It burns like fire, never extinguished; only fuelled by the pain. Sometimes, he laughs at the irony, but in moments like these he worships it, as it is what keeps him going on.
When he falls, it hurts.
He slumps down, and his mind whirs, trying to make sense of the things that occur. It pulses, and his body refuses, but by god, he tries to get up. He tries to get. He always does, because the fire never dulls, neither does his heart. They keep going on, sizzling, crackling, and giving hope – not to him, but to the others around.
It is the only thing you can trust him for. It is the only thing which is predictable, yet welcomed by all.
(He is laughing at the sheer amount of times he is contradicting himself. His enemy winces, but will get used to it. They always do)
Because, this is one of the things he is good at; because, it is the only thing that hurts the least to do.
Because, he is a hero, and this is expected of him to do.
When he falls, it hurts.
But when he rises, he loses a bit of himself. And bit by bit by bit, he knows that he is going to lose all of him. Still somehow, the idea is not as unappealing as he thinks he is ought to find it.
Because, when he falls, it hurts. And when he rises, a piece of him dies, taking along with it his capability to care, leaving him less than human, more of an intangible mess.
And at some level, he is glad of it. Because it means there will be lesser pieces to pick up the next time. The lesser the pieces, the lesser the pain, the lesser the time – This is his essence, and this is his core; not a thing of dreams, but of blunt, harsh reality.
So, now when he falls, it hurts. But he doesn't try to feel it, nor does he let his mind wander on the subject of pain for an extended amount of time. He just gets up and fights.
And fight he does, because it is the only way he can convince himself that the remaining pieces of him have something worth to live for.
Because this is the only way he can go sleep every night. Because he is oh so tired of living as he wants, and the roles giving to him by the society are so much easier to conform to.
The colours of the world bleed away, leaving demarcated roles to everyone. Everyone is either black, or white. And him? He is the only one in grey.
When he falls, it hurts. But he is glad of it, because it makes it much easier to convince himself that he is alive. The pain reinforces the rope that tethers his physical being to the world every time.
(But not his mind, never his mind)
When he falls, it hurts. But that is the least of it. When he falls, the human in him dissolves, drop by drop, until one day only the spider shall remain. Till then, he bides his time, and watches the world bleed black and white.
Till then he remains grey.
A/N
Disclaimer: Not mine.