02-08-2020, 07:11 PM
With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain, And eyes squeezed shut ‘neath rusty mane; Of all the answers he might have expected, I saw it too was not one of them. He is filled immediately with horror and for a moment his muscles tense, as if this was a problem he could run from. He can’t breathe, either, and the world spins around him and he wonders if perhaps he will simply faint instead, collapse in a broken pile at her feet, Maybe that would be for the best – he would welcome unconsciousness, would gladly accept the blackness. But alas. The world straightens and she is still there, and so is he. He hasn’t run, but he is too scared to look at her, to see what she must think of him. “I saved her,” he says. His voice is dry, weak. “This time, I saved her.” It means nothing. He’s the one who killed her in the first place. He’s the reason she needed saving at all. “She never loved me. She left me for dead. I was…I was so angry at her. So hurt.” He should be quiet. There is no justification to be found here. But once started, he finds he cannot stop himself. “It was a mistake. The moment it happened, I wanted to undo it. I just wanted her to look at me and not hate me. I’d do anything to change it.” Change it in this timeline, he means. Make himself a new man, who does not have such ghosts haunting him. “Do you think I’m terrible?” he asks. A foolish question. Of course he is. Of course. Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe; I never saw a brute I hated so; He must be wicked to deserve such pain. |