This is my second attempt at Magnificent7, a deathfic, so be warned (if there is anyone who reads this at all) and if anyone is reading this, please give me a review!
Nothing is mine, except the words…
DESERT SAND
He drew a line into the dust, moving his finger along the ground thinking nothing. Trying to think nothing.
He was crouching low on the earth and it was hard and dry under him and his fingers. The sun was hot and merciless, standing so high, laughing down at him, not caring at all. Or was it crying? And had it spent all its tears like he had so many years ago?
The sun was so old. Why had it never died?
Why did he die?
He added a second finger to the first and drew some more lines, carving letters into the sand knowing that the wind would blow everything away in less than ten minutes. And then nothing would show that he had drawn something in the earth. Nothing would show that he'd been here.
In ten minutes nothing would show that he'd ever been here.
In ten minutes he'd be gone.
'I just need ten minutes.'
He looked up when he heard a bird screech close to him and frowned up at it, blinking into the bright sky. It was circling above him, waiting for the time to pass. He sighed; it would.
The letters carved into the sand formed words, a name. He didn't know what he was writing, but his hand had crawled over the dust all by itself, not minding his sleeping brain this time. Not minding the alcohol induced slowness.
'Ezra Standish'
He closed his eyes, breathing hard.
Why?
'Why did you do that?'
He would never have thought it. Never in all the years he had been living in this town had the thought crossed his mind. Yes, he had been thinking about some of the others, what would happen if someone left, if someone was wounded badly or killed. But not like that, not him. Never him.
He hadn't thought it would feel like that.
He could feel the wind now. When his eyes were closed, his other senses felt sharpened. The small grains of sand trickled over his fingers, where they were still pressed against the ground. The dust moved around his hands. The soft wind crawled over his skin, trough his hair; caressing, tantalizing, whispering softly.
"I miss you."
Yes, he missed him; caressing, tantalizing, whispering softly into his ear.
Again, his fingers slowly moved over the rough sand, clawing into the earth now, as if trying to find a hold. As if they were trying to find something to stop time, to find a way out of this nightmare. Only, there was nothing under his fingers, only the grains that gave way to his dirty nails digging deeper. And it was no nightmare.
A shadow fell over him.
"I only need ten minutes," he whispered. When he heard the tears in his voice he froze and raised a trembling hand to his face. There they were, slowly running down his cheeks, now dirty from his fingers; dripping along the edges of his mouth.
Tears.
And the sun was so merciless, shining so hot. Perhaps it was envy, for the sun had no tears. Perhaps it was sadness, for the sun could not turn back the time, it could not stop it; it could only move and without wanting to, create a new day.
He was crying and could feel his body shaking now.
Why?
'Why did you leave me?'
He sobbed and a big hand fell onto his shoulder, gripping it, drawing him up and against a hard body that was shaking as well.
And he could feel him crying as well.
And ten minutes were gone. Just like that.
And when he opened his eyes, blinded by the tears still welling up in his eyes, he could see the desert sand where he had crouched; it was being slightly moved by the wind. And he couldn't see the letters anymore. There was nothing there, there was no past.
And he closed his eyes again. Crying.
end. by Camlost.