Thump. Thump. Thump.
A heart beat echoes in a chest.
Thump. … Thump.
A skipped beat stutters deep within and a breath catches.
Take a deep breath. Let it out.
Sweat soaked sheets glisten and with a skin crawling squelch release their hold upon the back.
Swing feet over the side. Wipe forehead clean. Run fingers through hair.
Just a dream. Nothing more than a dream...
Then reality settles in; the nightmare is life not the sweats of night.
As hard as fears leaping at you in your mind is, the insidious slow strangle of the 14th around the heart is worse. A slow creeping death, not of body, but of soul and mind.
The wary glances of past comrades, darkened whispers at the corners of the mind, both speak of the greatest fear; the slow fade. Perhaps if it were to be a sudden overtake, unable to be fought, it wouldn't hurt so much.
But to watch everyone grow further away, to feel your own grip on life slipping, to wonder if it was ever you (or at least the you, you made yourself after Mana) they saw or cared for. Were you only a tool to some and a ticking bomb to others?
Ah, but the dead of night is no place for thinking, for morning comes soon and a Walker must walk. For whether Mana loved you or another, you loved him.
Take a deep breath, and with breaking heart, smile for your audience, clown of God.
*Just a little piece that has been rattling in my head. A one shot for now.