Your Voice Echoes So Tauntingly in These Memories I Have Of You
"Allen, aren't you coming?"
Mercury irises contracted – focusing from the empty thousand-yard stare – settling on regretful amethyst ones. Allen didn't miss the lilt of guilt in that voice so familiar to him, or the way those delicate fingers fidgeted with the hem of her skirt – the things she did when she couldn't speak the words she wished.
"Yes, I'll meet you by the docks in a moment Lenalee."
She drooped. Like a wilted flower, posture humbled by resignation, that aching smile urged him to join her soon. The door shut with a click and hesitant footsteps echoed down the stone corridor towards the stairs. Fading. Fading. Fading. He knew he should move, but he just continued to stare. How long had he been here? He couldn't tell. Time was one of those things he'd long lost the ability to discern the passing of. An hour or a month, it was all the same in this unyielding space.
Oi Moyashi!
Sitting in the window concave, Allen watched idly as another amber-marmalade bellied cloud floated leisurely across the darkening sky. Far below, in the rusted soil of the track he could see a dappling of white and navy – the memory of yesterday and so many yesterdays before.
What are you doing?
The fragrance of cedar and smoked cider on snow singes the sinus and stings the eyes. The morning has just broken but night still clings to shivering forms that insist they aren't cold. The bruised ceramic bleeds heat into blushed-numb fingers. They sip and shudder and lips quirk into grateful grins – it is a familiar sweetness, tart but an unforgettable rustic flavour. Licking chapped lips, the flavour deepens the memories of camping and burning leaves. The Order – that large looming building wherein so many memories had been laid to rest – they can still make it out through barren branches. Its looming buttresses and black brick walls shiver too behind blurry eyes. Close. But they aren't cold.
We still haven't had a chance to talk properly yet.
A waltz. A dangerous dance of clashing weapons. Such an elegant display. Real or a mere rehearsal, he can no longer tell. Hissing like white noise in his ears drowning out thoughts he owns. All the rest – that belongs to him filtering through the static. That voice. That sickly saccharine voice. Good Morning, near sang so lofty. Where his own voice has gone, he cannot tell.
"You're not him."
A blade at his neck. So menacingly enticing those cobalt irises.
"I swear it's me!"
But it isn't. Not anymore. He is already looking from behind that two way mirror wishing to taste that blade he'd long run from.
"You're not him!"
Cold like ice, the metal of his blade. Salvation lies within the force of that hiltless demon. If only... He'd come all the way back, was it not for this? Why hesitate? Don't hesitate.
"It's me! It's me!"
But it isn't. Not anymore. But how to reach him to tell him when the lethargy like a drug bubbles up like death's sleep. A time when he wakes again, will it ever come?
Come back to us. Come back to me.
This place at times is a daydream, and at others a nightmare. Waking or sleeping it make no difference, the distance is all the same. Things silver irises have seen before, a bitter reminder of a world that once was – ignorant times that were so simple in their malice. Now only splotches of black over blurred images. Wondering, waiting in this terribly unfeeling place.
Oi, baka Moyashi, what the heck are you doing?
His voice is as rough as ever. A reprimanding tone that expected more – a great deal more than Allen could possibly hope to satisfy.
"I only wanted to close my eyes for a while and see those days where we were still too young to understand the gravity of goodbye."
End
A/N: Hello there everyone! How's about a short but heavy dose of angst to cut the monotony of cheer and festivities this morning? I haven't been entirely satisfied with my writing recently, being so distracted and all, but I do like the atmosphere of this one. I can't say exactly what I'm looking for, but I haven't had the deft grasp of language that I like to think I had not too long ago. Please bear with me as I flail and falter to find my style again.
And there isn't much to say about this one except that I was in more of a psychological than physical "scars" mood~ And once again Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all my lovely readers.
Still working on the 22/23 prompt: Absolution and next up is the 26/27 prompt: Onsra~ Ugh there aren't enough hours in the day ;w;
As always thanks for reading, all comments are very much welcomed and appreciated :)