bite the hand that beat you
“I should name you.”
His words are tired, accepting, resigned. The vulture sits upon its prickly perch, head cocking from side to side, beady eyes never once leaving his figure. It is plump with the feasting of the season, feathers shiny and mottled, and he is too tired to even bother with his usual surge of anger at how it feeds off of him.
What does it matter, anyways?
His lips pull back into a mocking grimace of a smile, exposing teeth that sometimes he thinks are still stained with Adriana’s blood. He can taste it in the back of his throat; thick, coppery, warm, the way it had sprayed and drenched him, and he thinks that he’s never been clean since, no matter how many times he’s scrubbed himself raw.
Monster. Her voice rings in his ears.
Only the one you made me, had been his reply.
The vulture hisses out agreeing laughter from atop the cactus, and he closes his eye in tired acceptance.
The vulture already has a name, he knows, and it is not the myriad of curses that he has tossed at the creature over his lifetime.
Around him, the snow is falling, building up and threatening to trap him, and yet he does not move.
Snow has never been a good thing.
His words are tired, accepting, resigned. The vulture sits upon its prickly perch, head cocking from side to side, beady eyes never once leaving his figure. It is plump with the feasting of the season, feathers shiny and mottled, and he is too tired to even bother with his usual surge of anger at how it feeds off of him.
What does it matter, anyways?
His lips pull back into a mocking grimace of a smile, exposing teeth that sometimes he thinks are still stained with Adriana’s blood. He can taste it in the back of his throat; thick, coppery, warm, the way it had sprayed and drenched him, and he thinks that he’s never been clean since, no matter how many times he’s scrubbed himself raw.
Monster. Her voice rings in his ears.
Only the one you made me, had been his reply.
The vulture hisses out agreeing laughter from atop the cactus, and he closes his eye in tired acceptance.
The vulture already has a name, he knows, and it is not the myriad of curses that he has tossed at the creature over his lifetime.
Around him, the snow is falling, building up and threatening to trap him, and yet he does not move.
Snow has never been a good thing.
image from pinterest
ooc: the vulture is a frequent hallucination of mattie's, so no one will be able to see who he is talking to.
if anyone wants to try and 'rescue' him, or get him to move to shelter, feel free!
ooc: the vulture is a frequent hallucination of mattie's, so no one will be able to see who he is talking to.
if anyone wants to try and 'rescue' him, or get him to move to shelter, feel free!
