Eren lies on the ground. He feels the dusty earth- cracked, dry, covered with blood.
(bloodfromwhobloodfromhimandthemandeveryonehisfaul tyhisfaultdidntsavethemintimeeateneateneaten)
The sky is bright blue, clear except for the occasional protruding cloud that hovers gracefully, slowly above the wall. It's a great day, he thinks, struggling to keep his eyes open. The boy knows that it would be better if the gentle vibrations from the big booming feet of the titans stopped, if the constant screaming, the sounds of paranoia and fear stopped, it'd be better.
It'd be peace. It'd be wonderful. But he has to keep wishing, has to keep his eyes open.
So Eren counts. Counts the remainder of his fingers (three, if they still stay), counts the number of parts of his body that will never, ever grow back (one hundred thirty four), and counts the slowing heartbeats that thump from his chest.
(if he counts the clouds like he did when he was a child he'd be getting sleepy, and he knows that if he rests, it will be forever)
Bu-bump,
bu-bump,
bu-bump,
bu... bump...
But still! He's still alive! He should be able to get back up on his feet. He has to kill all the titans; has to, needs to. He bites his hand- tries to, at least, because his right hand is gone, along with majority of his ribs and his leg, too.
Eren brings what's remaining of his left hand to his mouth. He bites down, hard, and the blood starts flowing and he's waiting for the adrenaline, the rush of fury and energy and rage and hate and everything evil. But it never comes.
Where there one was vengeance, this is now only solace.
Solace: that's a weird thought. All his life, he's lived for this. He's lived for the strange calls of animals undiscovered and the cold blast of wind from the ice lands to numb his skin, for the anger that only a mother's death, no, wait, his mother's death could bring and the sick heat that sits liquid and wet in his stomach when the blood of a titan splatters out in his face.
(becausethat'snotthetitansbloodthat'sthebloodof6bi llionpeoplewhowereeaten,killedbythatmonster)
He stares, looks up. Feels the blood, feels his life draining out of him, and blacks out.
When he reawakens there is nothing but stuffy air and cold around him. Something smells horrible. The boy wants to move, can't move, and then notices something. A hand.
No, not just a hand. A hand, an arm leading up to a shoulder, and the shoulder that's connected to a body-
(ohgodnopleasenonotthis)
Covered by another body.
(thatfouldsmellrottingdeadrottinggoneneverwinalway sdie)
And another.
(diediediefriendsfamilysorrowmourn)
All dead. All gone now.
(sorrysorrysorryfailedyoucouldnotwin)
Today, Eren struggles through a pile of corpses. He catches a breath- looks at the great blue sky,
and catches the scent of burning, rotting flesh.