The late summer sky was the color of bloody water.
Of course, Loki thought, you would certainly have to add the perfect amount of blood. Lost scudding clouds bore a deep crimson red, rippling and curling through the high-altitude wind. Gaps of light blue night peered through clouds and resembled an upside-down ocean, bottomless, cold, and ready to swallow him up.
Mortals would have described it as absolutely beautiful. But nothing was beautiful about this place. Returning to a realm like this, Midgard of all places did indeed 'suck'.
Loki Odinso- Ehem, Loki Laufeyson was waiting for death.
He could see New York City from where he laid, all of it. Towers were lit up and snakes of burning lights flickered pathways throughout the city. An airplane soared through the already darkening red sky, their passengers surely resting inside, watching in the distance as safety fireworks were shot. Laughter, music and the hum of cars skipped across the land like rocks being thrown with just the right spin, edges as sharp as Loki's hearing.
Outside of the booming city was darkness. So quiet, he liked quiet.
Loki's dull eyes pulled back to the sky. It had started to turn as black as coal, making him feel worse.
He was almost unaware of the linger pain still clouding his head and neck.
Why worry about such things? He'd ask himself, lips parting with ease, smiling with a skeleton like smile at the sky. He sometimes wished someone would smile back. It was easy to imagine his mother, looking down on him and stifling a kind laugh and just… Smiling.
He could hear someone shuffling close by, groaning and sounding incoherent.
A looming shadowed face suddenly formed above him and blocked his view of the sky. They weren't smiling. Now that Loki thought about it, his vision was quite fuzzy and doubled, only able to make out a mouth that franticly opened and closed. The figure was talking. Gold strands of their halo tumbled from behind their ears. Oh, Loki would realize, hair, not a halo.
Large hands were then cradling his head. He wanted nothing more but to shove them away and stop them from lifting him. But, he could not.
He couldn't talk. His throat was dry and hurt; feeling like dry ice had crawled around in his mouth, stilling his tongue.
He didn't care though.
He didn't care about anything. He kept grinning, unaware of how his body trembled, a sheet of sweat sprinkled over his skin.
"Loki," the voice would say.
Loki thought it sounded sad, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of much right now. Only that the sky was like bloody water and more fireworks had exploded into it, rays of yellows and blues mixing together like flying birds.
His mind floated free of his body, drifting in and out of disjointed versions of this dream.
No, he'd remind himself, a nightmare.
That's right, what kind of silly dream would have knifes and pain?
Loki heard sharp laughing that sounded like a rock dragging against a chalk board. It was his laughter. His throat burned with new found pain and the thick fog settled over him faded away for only a moment.
Trembling limbs felt like they were filled with liquid lead. But he didn't need them anyway. The figure with golden hair had picked him up.
"Loki," the voice would say again.
Loki's head had lolled as he watched the sky, half lidded eyes watching the blood be swallowed up by rumbles of thunder and lighting. The black clouds ate everything. Funny, he thought the blue would do that.
Midgard was annoying.
Always unpredictable, he didn't like that.
A shroud of gray was descending on him from the distance as the world grew too dark. He couldn't hear his laughing anymore, just his labored breaths, unsteady heartbeat, and words from the figure that tumbled at him through the void, carried by a booming voice. A booming yet very familiar voice.
A bony hand rose and moved through the air like a paint brush. The skin was deathly pale, stretched to tightly over the bones and stained in red.
Loki didn't remember touching the sky.
He was fascinated by the color, the blood that dripped and weaved itself between his fingers. It kept his mind off of the annoying voice.
A crackle of thunder rattled against fireworks as the hand limply fell. Why wouldn't the figure put him down?
"Loki," it'd try.
No answer. Loki simply watched the sky, wishing it returned to its bloody water color.
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