PROMPT: I dare you to write about a god visiting their last follower. Be creative with it. The god will die with this follower's death, what will they say? Will the follower be please to meet their god? Or will they be angry they stayed hidden for so long?
The blond boy lay on the floor, his blurring vision attempting to focus on the broken glass strewn in front of him. His father's shoes stood on the floor at the other end of the room. The strong, heavy legs that usually accompanied those brown leather shoes were missing.
He knew his father was somewhere in the house. He could almost smell the stench of alcohol on his wretched breath.
Tomorrow he would end it. Today is his last day, so he has to get up. He has to get off the floor.
Ignoring his aching neck and pounding head, he turned his head to the ceiling, It took incredible effort for him to lift his head and glance towards the door at the other end of the room.
His splayed fingers reached out and touched a shard of glass. He resisted the urge to raise it to his neck and end his misery. He had decided to wait one more day, he had promised her he would; there was no backing out now.
He forced his leaden arms to bend beneath his sore body. They weakly propped him up as he attempted to sit, his muscles screaming to be released from the effort.
He didn't notice the presence in the room until he was seated on the ground, examining his bloody arms. These new cuts would never heal, he thought. He wouldn't be alive long enough for them to heal.
Across the room, hiding in the shadows was a black-haired boy who appeared to be no older than eighteen. His bright azure eyes shone in the dim light, like two blue-tinted flashlights. His pupils were black slits, cutting through his eyes like those of a snake. His facial expression was strangely blank as he watch the blond boy struggle. He wore a black and blue tracksuit and a tattered blue scarf around his neck. He shifted a little
The golden haired boy's red eyes focused on the moving shadows. He had noticed the subtle change in the consistency of the darkness, but he couldn't yet make out the shape that lay hidden in it. It wasn't until the god stepped forward, making himself visible to the unsuspecting eye, that the boy saw him.
His red eyes widened. He knew that face. He knew those eyes.
For years he had been waiting for this moment. For years he had desperately wanted to see this god.
Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Is this real? Is he really there, the boy wondered. Was this reality or some cruel dream?
The god's lips moved. A few syllables tumbled from his mouth. They formed a name; his name. The god said he name.
"Yato." he whispered back, his voice catching in his throat. It refused to come out louder than a whisper.
They stared at each other in total silence. The seconds ticked by. Silence settled between them. There were no words to be spoken.
The blond boy didn't know how to feel. Here he was: the god he had waited for, the god he had prayed to for years, the god his sister had believed in. Here was the god his sister had lost hope in, the one she gave up on. He never gave up. He still believes.
Today is his last day-and yet here is the god he's been waiting for.
"I needed you." was all he could say. The words, accusations, seemed heavy on his tongue. He couldn't say anything more. The three words hung in the air between them.
"I know." Yato said. His tone was flat.
"My sister believed in you." he continued, unable to meet the god's eyes. She had believed in him. She no longer did. She no longer could.
"I know." Yato repeated. He took a step towards the boy, leaving the shadows behind. Even in the dim room, it was blindingly apparent that he was weakening every second. His shoulder slumped further and further and his head tilted further downwards with each second as though he could no longer hold himself up. His skin grew paler and paler until he was whiter than snow. Even his blue eyes grew duller. He felt the boy's anger like a stab through the heart.
Yato knew he the boy would die tomorrow. He would die as well. After all, the boy was his very last follower. Without anyone to believe in him, what use was he? He would disappear like all the other gods people forgot about.
"Why are you here?" the boy asked. Angry tears steamed down his face, tearing through the dried blood. The salt stung his open wounds.
"You're the last one." Yato said, taking another step forward. "You are my last follower." Yato's eyelids slid downwards, cutting his vision in half. The boy didn't respond, his head was spinning to much for words. "When you'll die, I will too." His next step towards the boy was shaky and weak. He felt his energy draining more and more with every long second.
The boy stared at him with horrified red eyes. Was this true? Did Yato's life truly depend on him? Was he really the only person who believed in this god?
Yato looked at the beat up boy. He knew, with just one look at him, he knew. This boy was ready to die.
The boy watched Yato's mouth move. He heard the shaky voice plead with him, but he couldn't respond. The words stopped at his lips as his head spun. The room turned upside down and the ceiling sprinted towards him, dragging a heavy darkness behind it.
When he opened his tired, leaden eyes, his encounter with Yato seemed far away and hazy. He sat up and scanned the room through his blurry vision. The bright blue eyes were gone. The jersey-wearing shadow had disappeared. The god was no longer in the room.
Had the encounter really happened, he wondered. Did Yato really visit him? He was certain the meeting had not been a dream. He was certain Yato had really been there, standing in his living room, talking to him.
He felt a heavy burden weighing him down. Yato would disappear when he died. His life was no longer the only one at stake.
He looked towards the open doorway that led to the rest of the house, then to the door at the other end of the room.
He had two choices. He could keep living in this house for the last day and kill himself tomorrow or he could leave and find a new life, a new hope, somewhere outside.
His head stopped spinning. The clouds disappeared from his mind. The choice was clear.
He got up and, with stumbling steps over the broken glass, made his way towards the door. His weak hand reached for the cold doorknob. It turned easily.
Warm sunlight washed over him. For the first time in his life, he felt alive, truly alive. The breeze felt warm, comforting.
Blue eyes watched from the top of a tree as the young, blond-haired boy took a tentative step outside. Thin lips curled up in a smile. His plan had worked. He disappears into the green leaves, knowing that the boy would live on, at least for a while.