Sometimes the sidewalk ends and you have to step on the grass.
They say all good times must come to an end.
But you continue on until you reach another sidewalk.
Then you just go on until you reach another good time.
And that sidewalk will end soon as well
Then that time will end just as the time before
Making you step onto the grass again
And the dark times will begin
And the grass will be difficult to walk on
But they say it is always darkest before the dawn
And the ground will be difficult and lumpy to walk on
And the darkness will pass with another good time
But then a sidewalk will emerge
And the good times will continue in their roundabout way
And your path will continue
Until the very end and you get to your destination.
How you get there won't matter
It won't matter how bloody or broken you've become
Or how loose your bones are from their sockets
Neither if you're running on empty
Nor if you're only managing by dragging yourself through dirt.
The only thing that would matter
Is that you would be there.
Your body may be like a mirror broken into tiny fragments
That the more you try and pick up, the
More the pieces shatter.
Or it may be like a rock
That the water crashes against every day
Wearing you down
Into a mere pebble.
It may be like a flower
That has died
And the petals stay on
The ground and the
Rest attached to the stem
It waits to be crushed
Down into the ground.
What will be will be
And what is broken
And can't be fixed
Will taunt you until—
Ivan sat up feeling a heavy weight on his chest. It was pressed harshly against his wound in such a way that it kept it from healing during the night. He looked down to watch Alfred with his eyes closed lying against him.
He didn't think much of it. He was big and took up too much space on the dirty mattress. He glanced at his cheek and smirked. Alfred's cheek was smeared with his blood. How nice it looked on him.
He stood up forcing Alfred to fall back against the mattress and partly the floor. He paid him no mind as he walked downstairs. They needed food. They needed wood. They needed water.
He looked out a broken window. The sun was just now starting to rise. The wolves would still be out right now, but they would be less likely to cross his path. He looked at his coat. It was torn. He would have to make do.
He walked outside and grabbed a cold steal bucket that had started to rust. Little chips of red orange dust rubbed against his hand and he swung the bucket around carelessly.
His feet hit the ground making a sound that didn't register in his mind, but he knew it was a sound by the fact his ears were the ones to pick it up. His legs felt numb as he walked on the cold, hard ground. The well was a mile or two from his house. In the direction he seemed to know by not really knowing, but more on the edge of remembrance and the edge of just a passing word.
The air was cold and it bit against the skin of his cheeks. It was harsh but it felt good to his lungs. It felt right. It felt warmer outside than inside.
He stood at the edge of the well. He didn't remember walking there. He looked down just to see blackness. It seemed like it could stretch on forever. He reached his hand down into the well and the darkness seemed to move away from him. He smirked. Even evil was afraid of him.
Ivan made his way about getting the water and headed back to the house. There were no sidewalks in this part of his land. Only in the cities. He missed Moscow. He couldn't go there anymore without people trying to burn him alive.
He went inside the house and placed the water down. Firewood for the stove. That was what he needed. He was so routine in this that it almost felt like the firewood would appear in his hands. He needed to go and kill something for food.
Alfred walked down the stairs to see Ivan come in. He looked and saw a bucket of rusty water and made a face. He would have to work with it.
"No more than one?" He pointed to the bucket when Ivan gave him a confused look.
"I only have one bucket." He nodded and looked at it with disinterest.
"Food?" He stepped closer to Ivan.
"I will have to go kill something." He pursed his lips together.
"Find a rabbit. You go kill it. I'll get some firewood." Ivan nodded and left and Alfred crossed his arms. This felt like way back when again. He shook his head and went out in search of firewood.
He walked outside feeling the sun Caress the back of his neck. He wouldn't go too far into the woods in case he couldn't find his way back. Only far enough. He shook his head. Ivan should really just come and stay with him in America.
Alfred walked into the woods picking up the driest sticks he could find. He yawned walking. It was peaceful like this. Very quiet and no one or anything around. Just him and the sky.
Ivan killed the rabbit. He killed the rabbit like he had killed that child long, long ago. It's neck snapped easily and it only twitched for a moment before it stopped.
You deserve to die. You don't deserve food. You've been dealing without for a long while now. You don't' need any. Just get enough for Alfred.
He picked up the limp body and held it loosely in his hand. The rabbit didn't even have a chance. He shrugged and put it in his coat pocket. He felt that he should keep the little thing warm until he could find another to keep it company.
You're sick. The thought kept rattling around his head. Falling against the walls of his skull. It turned over and over again dissipating into mush and then forming again like water to gas to water all over again.
He clicked his tongue seeing another rabbit run by. This one was a pretty white. It would die today. He shook his head and went after it.
A.N./ I usually write these things when I'm a bit depressed. Helps me connect with the characters. Gotta give my cat away. My own fault for getting attached to him. The poor thing's gotta go. Hope you all liked it, but right now I could care less if you did or not.