and bury it before it buries me
She is not new to the sight of blood.
She is just new to the sight of blood without feeling the pang of empathy she is so accustomed to.
It usually hits her like a shiver down her spine, or a warmth in her face, a chill in her chest. But she can feel absolutely nothing as she stands in front of him, watching the way the crimson creases at his shoulder, little droplets touching down below it with each tiny movement he creates. She watches it, Elena cannot decide if it feels like she has never been seen such red blood before, or if maybe her life has been full of blood and this is just one more. If she could feel something beside this hollowness (she can feel the way the wind blows through her like the forest of Dawn) maybe she would push him away and tell him to leave her alone. Maybe if she could feel she would gather him in her arms and try her best to push emotion into his chest, trap it in between the spaces of his ribs and force him to feel something, anything.
Then maybe all those eyes would stop staring at her.
He is bleeding, still.
It is the only thing, the only real thing that moves and breathes in this moment and Elena latches onto it for some sense of sanity. She shakes that numbing feeling from herself, casting it aside as she moves close to him to begin her work. <“Are you in pain?” She asks with a wince she tried to so hard to keep away from the corners of her mouth as she looks at him. “Do you need something for it?” Her many remedies are at the ready.
“Do you—do you ever forget things?” She asks him. And she thinks he will know what she means. It is not the forgetfulness like someone’s birthday, someone’s name. It is forgetting something more (how to laugh, how to feel, how to speak like something more than the hollow shell by the sea.)
A smile spreads on those golden lips, so soft and so open. It is a smile for him, a smile she tries so hard to hold in despite of it all. She finishes bandaging him, there is hardly any blood showing through it. He will be okay, she thinks, physically. She tries not to imagine the rest. “But even if I could,” she says to him, looking at him like he is full, like he is so full of the life that must have been taken away from him. “I wouldn’t.” She promises. “Do you believe me?” Elena thinks it so important for him to trust her.
It will be later, when that pain creeps back into her heart, and her entire body aches, as if punishing her for forgetting, if even for a moment that she will think about Jask and wish the chasm in his face would open up wide once more and swallow her down into a nothingness so bleak, there is not a color for her to describe it.
She is just new to the sight of blood without feeling the pang of empathy she is so accustomed to.
It usually hits her like a shiver down her spine, or a warmth in her face, a chill in her chest. But she can feel absolutely nothing as she stands in front of him, watching the way the crimson creases at his shoulder, little droplets touching down below it with each tiny movement he creates. She watches it, Elena cannot decide if it feels like she has never been seen such red blood before, or if maybe her life has been full of blood and this is just one more. If she could feel something beside this hollowness (she can feel the way the wind blows through her like the forest of Dawn) maybe she would push him away and tell him to leave her alone. Maybe if she could feel she would gather him in her arms and try her best to push emotion into his chest, trap it in between the spaces of his ribs and force him to feel something, anything.
Then maybe all those eyes would stop staring at her.
He is bleeding, still.
It is the only thing, the only real thing that moves and breathes in this moment and Elena latches onto it for some sense of sanity. She shakes that numbing feeling from herself, casting it aside as she moves close to him to begin her work. <“Are you in pain?” She asks with a wince she tried to so hard to keep away from the corners of her mouth as she looks at him. “Do you need something for it?” Her many remedies are at the ready.
“Do you—do you ever forget things?” She asks him. And she thinks he will know what she means. It is not the forgetfulness like someone’s birthday, someone’s name. It is forgetting something more (how to laugh, how to feel, how to speak like something more than the hollow shell by the sea.)
A smile spreads on those golden lips, so soft and so open. It is a smile for him, a smile she tries so hard to hold in despite of it all. She finishes bandaging him, there is hardly any blood showing through it. He will be okay, she thinks, physically. She tries not to imagine the rest. “But even if I could,” she says to him, looking at him like he is full, like he is so full of the life that must have been taken away from him. “I wouldn’t.” She promises. “Do you believe me?” Elena thinks it so important for him to trust her.
It will be later, when that pain creeps back into her heart, and her entire body aches, as if punishing her for forgetting, if even for a moment that she will think about Jask and wish the chasm in his face would open up wide once more and swallow her down into a nothingness so bleak, there is not a color for her to describe it.
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@Jask
![[Image: ddvotwe-59302ba6-6a81-47bf-9846-30c5a5db...0iFb4PvyXE]](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/8026a53b-dc57-41ab-b574-9f8a8fe57ce4/ddvotwe-59302ba6-6a81-47bf-9846-30c5a5db0780.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzgwMjZhNTNiLWRjNTctNDFhYi1iNTc0LTlmOGE4ZmU1N2NlNFwvZGR2b3R3ZS01OTMwMmJhNi02YTgxLTQ3YmYtOTg0Ni0zMGM1YTVkYjA3ODAucG5nIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.ujCJH7FAbsQhfZlQniMmEd_vw-VmvaTDn0iFb4PvyXE)
let's light this house on fire
we'll dance in the warmth of its blaze
pixel made by the amazing star
