Shine, My Child
shine - my child, like
a candle - though
riding
on the wick of dreams
hopes of others lie
melting
beneath your life.
shine - my child, but know
you
drink not of what
is living, you breathe
the cry of young,
you
sing the broken
song of the pale lily.
shine - my
child,
though you try, the
wind is sly,
the gentle
breeze
has lulled the candle's
flame to a lifeless sleep
shine
- my child,
shine like the dead flame
shines no more.
He sits silently by the window. It's dark outside. The rain cascades down the glass panel like the blood that bleeds through his veins.
The blood that bleeds for her.
He knows right now that she's in pain. The worst kind of pain - not physical, but mental, emotional, psychological agony, because she has experienced the cliche that still rings so immaculately true:
the hardest thing to do is to watch the one you love, love somebody else.
Damn, it hit her hard. Not like the way it had crept up on him, the way he watched his twisted heart fall harder and harder for the girl he could never have.
He stays inside now. He succumbs to the admission that hiding is possibly the worst form of defence he could ever draw up, but still.
The rain, he decides, is vaguely comforting.
He wonders what it was that drew him into the realm of darkness, that he should be perpetually running away, away from the truth that beckons him so enticingly close to her.
If she knew, she would understand that all her pursuit of the destruction of him had ended the day they met.
He remembers her piercing gaze. Oh, how she loathed him. He never could mirror back the same emotion, if only on the surface. But he'd give her a lasting look, watching through eyes of ocean blue, letting her wrestle with her own hurt and disgust at the mystery that lay deeper, hidden, behind those vacant stares.
Michael Vaughn had everything - including Sydney Bristow. Now he had nothing, because he lost her. The memory of Vaughn makes Sark deliriously sinister. Sark had been waiting for this - the time when Vaughn would run himself into a corner, because he can't love the one who loves him.
Sark relishes the moment and allows his crooked lips to twist themselves into a familiar smirk.
For now, he stays inside. He will not seek Sydney, he will not seek that exhiliration that comes from seeing his beloved. Though such unrequited love was painful, he knew no other way. The lure of the darkness that he lived in had once dragged him in by the collar, and since then, he had been torn from everything in the light, including her.
Sark often wondered what would have happened if he had chosen to follow his path straight to the CIA. He could be one of them now. Damn, he could be with Sydney now.
But the power of persuasion of money, of power itself, had driven a stake right through everything he used to treasure. Of values, of morals, yes, even love. He'd defected to buying by stealing, thriving by extorting, and living by killing...
Now he had everything he'd ever wanted.
Except Sydney.
A flash of lightning pierces the night sky. Thunder leaps through the air outside.
But coldness, freezing coldness, is all that permeates through the glazed window into his broken soul.
shine like the dead flame
shines no more.