A J A X
- Dim Aldebaran -
:i:
Suicide is the answer: the only question that remains is 'when'.
'What' was the most particular of them: to conclude, to end, to destroy. The diction mattered little. A slow slit to the wrist was little different from the dull thunder of the gun: it was only a matter of the quantity of blood, and whether Mother-dear would be able to ever sit in that chair again.
'Where' was the library; an appropriate setting for such disquieting thoughts, where the collected outcry of humanity fermented into the cultured bittersweet of wine, or festered into the ugly spite of a wound. The library was a good place for the damned to die.
'Who' was none other than himself: his most ignoble intellect, his sharpened wit, his sadistic genius, his prodigal mind… the usual run of acclamations, each as sickeningly verbose as the last. Use a simpler word, he always longed to say, and call me a 'fool'. But his thoughts would seldom allow him: they were beginning to bore themselves.
'Why': the most conspicuous question remaining, and the answer seldom delighted anyone except the bullets, who generally made a ruckus about it all, being the boorish things that they are. Little thought was given to any reason; it was a mood and little more, a passing whim that would never have the chance to pass him by. But then, he had always liked surprises. They kept the windmills of his mind whirling long after the adrenaline had gone on by… though bored they became, and bored they remained.
There was only one question left for them to answer, after all.
Artemis felt the cold sleep of the knife against his wrist, and closed his eyes.
When.
:i:
I wrote this about three hours ago. I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd type this up and post. No beta; a volunteer would be lovely, however. CC is appreciated, as always, though I'd rather that the subject of the piece not be criticized. Feel free to poke at the verbosity, however; in retrospect, I kept wondering if this was my voice, or Artemis's, that'd use such diction.
I'm probably boring you. Again, concrit welcome, though a simple review would suffice as well. Merci.