Thought I'd give it a try.
~
Everything spins out of control. Slowly, securely. The signs are there, they have been from the start, but he ignores them because this form of absolute bliss is such a comfort, such a happy change. He knows: lying is bad. But then again: is he really lying? Keeping your mouth shut is not lying, after all. And so he sticks to that thought. He sticks to it and closes his eyes. He loses sight, the signs are blending and all there is left is a big blurry mess of coincidences and bad luck.
He should have known and yet, the surprise hits him in the face.
"You could have changed this," he hears them cry in his head. Disappointment, rage, pain, hysteria. It all feels the same. There's no longer difference, reason. "this is all your fault." And they're right. Of course they are. The blame rests on his shoulders and his only.
"You lied to me," the accusation shakes him awake. Because maybe he has, after all. Because maybe silence is an answer, as well. Maybe the biggest lie of them all was being quiet. He's too tired to open his mouth, too tired to speak. He wants to, so badly. He wants to scream and yell and then cry and beg. Anything to change this horrible scenario. It has all turned out so wrong, so deformed. He wants to say so much. There are still so many things to tell. So many things to apologize for.
I lied for you, he wants to cry, I did it all for you. And he's right. Of course he is. But being right won't get him anywhere. Not now; not anymore. "I'm sorry," he manages, eventually. It's broken and it's so horribly cracked, but he has to try. Because time is running out and he can't let him walk away. Not without trying.
And then before the noisy boots and the slamming door fade away... "So am I."
When they lead him outside, make him kneel before the wooden block, he doesn't even try to stop them. He doesn't struggle, because he doesn't understand. He thinks he feels a tear, but he's not sure. Because he's cold and he can't feel anything. A thousand tears wouldn't be able to cover the pain he feels inside.
His ear catches the word 'magic', they call his name. But there's just no comprehending. He doesn't understand. And then he looks up, eyes passing over faces far above him, meaningless faces. Glazed over eyes find his. And there, there it is. He understands, finally. Suddenly everything makes sense. Suddenly he knows why he's there.
It's over. It has been ever since they chained him to that cold wall. Since the moment he was forced to show his true self. This was all meant to be. He doesn't feel disappointment, not even anger, because it is how it is.
And so he waits for the shimmer of silver to enter his vision, patiently waits for it all to end like it's supposed to, because he has time.
Before it all stops, he has no fear. He knows those eyes are watching him and even though it's ending for him. For Arthur, the only true friend he has ever had the honour to love, life is only just beginning. And it's glorious, a salvation to know that finally, finally, he's able to fully devote his life to him.
Before it all stops, he hopes dearly for Arthur, his Arthur. Hopes that one day he will understand, and perhaps he already does, deep inside. He hopes that once the guilt and the hurt fade away, he'll be able to remember him not as a traitor, a liar, but as a friend. He closes his eyes and hopes for Arthur.
He doesn't hope for himself, because, after all, there has never been much hope to begin with.
I love to hear your thoughts about this... drabble-thingy. I know it's far from perfect, since I just scrabbled it down on a note and then threw it in a Word document: but still.
If you have time to leave a review, please do.