He soared.
He soared because it
was the only way he could. The night air, cold and fresh, whipped
around his thin frame, but he didn't dare hug his own concave
waist. No. He wanted to feel, to truly feel for once, and be in
charge of it. No longer did he wish to be in bondage, to be told what
to feel in the very mockery of love. He knew the carpet rides he
stole away were futile; she made sure of that.
He absently rubbed his wrists as Carpet teased the stars just out of reach. He remembered how he got the scars that ornately decorated his each wrist in a matching pattern. Maybe that day could have happened different; maybe he could have broke to her that he didn't feel what he felt for he anymore better. In any case, he still felt the emotions he felt that day as strong as ever in each waking moment, each glance at her.
He had felt confusion as the guards barred him from leaving and grabbed him, dragging him back to her; shock as she slapped him, nails digging trenches in his skin. He felt a lead weight as she yelled at him; and fear as a hot metal brand was brought out. There was nothing but raw panic hurting his chest as the guards restrained his struggling arm.
But most of all he felt pain as Jasmine herself pressed the sizzling metal onto his skin. But the grief that wasn't physical, as Jasmine whispered into her ear...
" I own you "
He looked at his wrists once more, morbidly interested as he traced the symbol of the Royal House Of Agrabah that the scars formed. He didn't know at first just exactly what they meant, that is until he first tried to run from the fucked up hell his life had become, alarmed at Jasmine's twisted pursuit of affection. At first the escape attempt was seamless, managing it to the very edges of the city. But then what seemed like your routine mugging, a semicircle of fiends surrounding a boy who dared to travel alone at night. The situation only turned odd when the ringleader spotted the emblem on his wrists.
He was brought back,
gagged and bound, trussed up like some gift for Jasmine
as he
watched his harassers be handed a hefty sum in reward for bringing
him back.
He had cringed as Jasmine looped her arms around his neck.
His brand meant money, and no man could fight the greed for that.
He sighed. He was done asking why, done with pleading, and through with taking her corrupted forced love. He was through crying and through fighting. He leaned down to whisper to his threaded friend and felt a gust of wind momentary cradle him as he free fell.
That night he flew for the last time
He flew and he laughed.
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