IPOMOEA
let's be wildflowers
T
he desert is drifting through his mind, bringing with it sand and sweat and memories.
He had been too young to understand when they tossed him out into the desert, but that is the first thing he remembers: the sound of hooves galloping away from him, of desperation to get back to his mother. She was not there though when he called for her - she was gone like the rest of them, and although he tried to follow their hoofprints the wind is washing them away like it, too, is stripping away his life before it has even begun.He can’t stop looking at the red-skinned man that wears the fur and bones of others, as if he’s trying to recognize him from those hazy memories that tell him he should.
But he does not recognize him.
He sees only faceless horses in his mind, horses that are black and white and grey and plain, horses that are ghosts and silhouettes instead of people. Horses he does not know, for time and youth have blurred them out almost entirely.
"I don’t have a brother." The words fall like judgement from his lips. He lets the fig fall from his grasp, tumbling head over heel to the ground where it rests, the sand sucking out its moisture until it is as dry as a fallen leaf. No brother, no father, no mother. There's a hollow space left where they should have been.
He turns then, and as wildflowers follow he walks away into the desert.
If Ramses calls to him, he does not hear it. His thoughts are too loud, drowning out all but the sound of his own hooves as they sink deep into the sand.
@ramses | "speaks" | notes: making all my replies out of order oops
