04-10-2015, 07:45 PM
and death shall have no
DOMINION
“Dom?” The voice was wrong. Not the silky crooning of her lover gently coaxing her to stir. No, she would never hear that voice again. This was oddly familiar, gentle, as if the speaker were afraid she would shatter at the sound of her name. Perhaps he wasn’t far off. “Dom…it’s…it’s me.” Her head was too heavy to lift, to turn to face him. She cracked one eye open, red-rimmed green meeting gold eyes she’d known so well a lifetime ago. He’d said goodbye, and she had figured it was forever, no matter that he’d said he’d come back someday. There was no such thing as someday.
“Nish.” She didn’t have enough voice left from the sobbing and the screaming to produce more than a rough croak. Her eye drifted closed the moment she stopped fighting to keep it open, and she drew a deep breath, fortifying herself and drawing the energy from god, somewhere, just to move. Slowly, despite the ache of weary muscles, despite the weight of grief, despite the bruises and the cracked ribs and the blood trickling down her sides, she forced herself to get up. It would only get harder the longer she stayed down. She knew that. God, she knew that.
She tried. She fucking tried to leave the screams and the sobs and the agonized echo of “hurts, Momma,” on the ground behind her as she fought her way to her feet. Her jaw clenched, her breath shook, but she had no tears left to cry and if she was nothing else—not a mother, not a lover, not a herdmate, not a sister or a daughter or anything to anyone anymore because they were all dead and gone—if she was nothing else, she was a goddamn survivor. So she dragged herself to her feet, drew herself up, and looked her old friend in the eye for the first time in four years. “Hello.”
Jagged. She felt so jagged, shards of glass that had been shattered and melted back together into nothing but sharp edges in every direction. With every breath, those edges sliced her open, pouring blood into the hungry earth. If he came closer, would they cut him too? Her laugh was harsh, bitter, almost a caw as it tore out of her throat. Probably. Everyone who touched her died. Everyone who loved her poured out their blood to feed the barren ground beneath her, its appetite never sated no matter how many lovers or brothers or fathers or children or friends fell in the attempt.
And still she stood.
"You always seem to find me at the end of the world, Nish."
“Nish.” She didn’t have enough voice left from the sobbing and the screaming to produce more than a rough croak. Her eye drifted closed the moment she stopped fighting to keep it open, and she drew a deep breath, fortifying herself and drawing the energy from god, somewhere, just to move. Slowly, despite the ache of weary muscles, despite the weight of grief, despite the bruises and the cracked ribs and the blood trickling down her sides, she forced herself to get up. It would only get harder the longer she stayed down. She knew that. God, she knew that.
She tried. She fucking tried to leave the screams and the sobs and the agonized echo of “hurts, Momma,” on the ground behind her as she fought her way to her feet. Her jaw clenched, her breath shook, but she had no tears left to cry and if she was nothing else—not a mother, not a lover, not a herdmate, not a sister or a daughter or anything to anyone anymore because they were all dead and gone—if she was nothing else, she was a goddamn survivor. So she dragged herself to her feet, drew herself up, and looked her old friend in the eye for the first time in four years. “Hello.”
Jagged. She felt so jagged, shards of glass that had been shattered and melted back together into nothing but sharp edges in every direction. With every breath, those edges sliced her open, pouring blood into the hungry earth. If he came closer, would they cut him too? Her laugh was harsh, bitter, almost a caw as it tore out of her throat. Probably. Everyone who touched her died. Everyone who loved her poured out their blood to feed the barren ground beneath her, its appetite never sated no matter how many lovers or brothers or fathers or children or friends fell in the attempt.
And still she stood.
"You always seem to find me at the end of the world, Nish."
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;