1
1 was jealous. He was angry. He had tried, but no feelings of rest or happiness settled on him. When he saw 7 and 9 drift closer together, as he had watched the closeness of twins, and the the telltale intimacy of 5 and 6, the dark cloud that hung around him only swelled and doubled and threatened to gently kill him.
There was a sickness there, instead- in that chilly place in his chest- where he would have gladly held beauty and warmth. The sickness had its own warmth, though. He let it rule him, for lack of what he could only watch in others; the white-hot protectiveness, the stinging need to be sure all were safe, and well. But the same as the sickness of heart kept him from warmth in himself, it kept him from warmth in others.
There were no words he could speak now- none that would undo the chains in which he had bound himself. 1 knew there was no key- no lock. Only the links, holding one on to another, cold.