There is an itch beneath his skin that he can’t seem to scratch, a desire for the sort of violence he used to seek out and incite, an ache to feel alive once more. He’s so goddamned tired of being tired, of feeling like a dead man walking, of minding his manners under the watchful eye of the collared soldier, and when he bares his teeth at the child it’s in a manic grin. How old would his sons be, now? How much did they hate their father, for letting them remain orphans, for never coming forward and claiming them, for their only memories of him to be a note and a bagful of coins? He certainly couldn’t blame them for hating him, or even for forgetting him -- and perhaps that was best, that they might just simply forget that he existed, or some other soul might have taken pity on them and taken them in. Everything he touched had always turned to ashes. He doubted his children would have been any different. His wild-eyed gaze shifts to the soldier when her words crack through the air, and he turns that manic grin towards her -- a snake coiled in the grass, ready to strike, every line in his body full of tension that just begged to snap. “Fuck off,” He snarls in response, and the mother takes her chance to sweep her child away while he’s distracted -- on his blind side, so that he doesn’t notice they’re leaving until they’re gone, and isn’t that the story of his life right there? He’s never known anyone to stay once they realize who he really is. |
@Teiran
