http://community.livejournal.com/da
http://community.livejournal.com/da
http://community.livejournal.com/da
[http://community.livejournal.com/damne
http://community.livejournal.com/da
http://community.livejournal.com/da
http://community.livejournal.com/da
[http://community.livejournal.com/damne
http://community.livejournal.com/damned
http://community.livejournal.com/damned
So, you beg for distractions, and another is only too happy to provide--a game so perfect it could have been of your choosing. But things seem to wilt under pressure, and abandonment and murder make uncomfortable subjects, even when proved true. You play your part, and the monster is not seen as you, and one retreats, unknown languages calling.
Your third encounter comes in the form of familiarity, wrapped in sweet need and bearing gifts. This is tolerated, and allowed, and over far too soon.
(You can't know that a brother or two is experiencing the same game, a different version.)
Time passes you by. The day has droned too long.
[Lessons learned:
Amusement comes dry.
...Brothers are complicated.]
The game continues, but you're outnumbered more often than not, and in the midst of your good-humor, hysteria gives rise. You don't want to be alone, and you don't want to be without. To this extent, your mind claims self-sacrifice, but whether that's left to be successful you don't know.
But what is there to say about fighting with weapons? With none of the usual things left to you, you both made did with what you did, and rocks and branches became your guns--words shot out like bullets. But, like the night before, others complicate things, and both of you soon find yourself lacking.
Lacking more than normal, even, and no twin to comfort. Both of you, instead, speak delicate lies broken too easily with truth--you can't as easily say enemy as you can brother, when you can't see him dead and he can't hate you at all. But death is too ever-present, too tolling, and this brother tries to comfort you in the only way you can be. Time slows, the days marches, and you can't yet remember. Oh, you can't remember.
In the shadows, red appears, and when black rises up, violence is withheld in favor of desperation. You know it well, and see it, and still it's there--in the way you were drawn to another, in the way you follow him now. There's something familiar in front of you, and because of that, pain slows, even for a little while. But others always did complicate things, be it two or three, and when miscommunication gives rise to old habits, well.
Are you really that surprised when your fist doesn't connect? Or that you withheld it all this time?
You think about this under a spray, noting your lost chance with a grin, with pain, and giving in to something you thought you had overcome. Will you find hope in the darkness? Are you ignoring what's in front of you? Denial is a many wondrous thing, and you hold to it, dying.
Talking gives way to little more than what you knew, though making the baby miss a step in his dance with others seemed worth it. There are things you've learned. You must decide where you stand. (Though you won't. You know you won't.)
Down to up, to down again. You sought answers and they were given, detailed and in words you cannot use. Detailed in ways you cannot comprehend. You swallow it down, swallow it up--let them go and move on--and tear a little more. You listen, and for that, you know you're faltering.
Torn in pieces too small to count, your question echoes, and it's answered differently. To forgive, after everything. Because you share more than blood. The contradictions slip against you. One by one, things are slipping away.
[Lessons learning:
When games are continued you may be successful and perhaps make friends.]
...Yes. Oh yes, he is. Your choices remain unclear. Nothing has changed, everything has. So you continue following in another's footsteps, an echo of your own, chiming with false sincerity. No matter. You speak the words none will voice, and before your answer is touched on, another comes, to destroy or to play--does it matter? What's done is done, and you're gleeful for the moment, touching on insanity and height, dipping down into a simple joy. You have his life in your very hands.
Your steps continue, your amusement high, his protests perhaps loud, your will unwavering, until.... And yet you pause, hesitant, delve for answers and come up short, and nothing has truly been right this night.
A little darker, a little lighter, and here's another, playing your role, and coming to you for answers. Someone like you maybe, all violet-eyed and quiet, making paper come to life. Making more presents for you, more kindness to weigh you down.
And you are weighed down, dreaming of something that will never be, for someone to take these strangers' place in front of you, and treat you kindly. Instead the same habits are repeated, and in lack, you turn to one as lost as yourself--the outcome undecided, the motive not yet bad or good.
In the end, nothing is settled, nothing is realized, and the outcome was something you knew all along--that comfort was not to be found in that place; that your decisions are still more complicated than you originally thought. And complications yet arise, and when truly upset, where do you go, broken and laden with both fear and hope? Can a familiar stranger help you, dare to tread where family will not?
[Lessons learned:
Some things are not as fun as they seemed. - Writing is a joy, and quite possibly an art. - Games are great fun, but only it they're played correctly. - Brothers are the type to stew in silence, even when you're being nice. - There might be many like yourself here. - Home is not a place. - Familiar insecurities haunt you, even when hope briefly touches down. - Presents are blessings, curses, and gifts--and maybe you'll learn how to accept them.]
So your hunt begins. It doesn't mean your thinking has to cease. No, not at all. Even as you continue your hunt, even as you question it, you're thinking, analyzing, considering. You wouldn't be you if you didn't. You wouldn't have survived what happened if you weren't. You'll be rewarded for your efforts, you'll find your little brother, your darling, and you'll have the opportunity to play once more. Because even if he runs, you're able to find him. As long as you're alive you'll feel the both of them inside you.
And now, you have a chance to bond.
But bonds do break, and so do you, and there might have been something there--once, again, but now you will never know. In the throes of your sorrow and your rage, morning comes.
Bright light to shadow the pain.
page two is covered in words--names by the look of it, lots of them--planets, people, places. enough to fill half of the page.]
You lived to tell the tale, yet all you see are the same old faces. At least familiarity gives rise to knowledge, and maybe you'll learn something from it all (or maybe she will). Either way, mornings are good, unless you see one of your worst nightmares; something you're lacking, something you're missing, and then what? Planning goes to waste in the face of that, and so do you.
You can try to come to terms with things, but medication leaves little room for true understanding, and if you want to tell the truth, the both of you were never good at communicating. Maybe you'll leave that for another day. Maybe you'll regret leaving it.
(Sedation gives little room for spying--you'd do well to remember that.)
And so you sleep, blinded by pain and full of delusions, and maybe for once you were really free. But sleeping children always wake, and sadly, so do you. But sometimes there are things to give you hope; kind people and unexpected surprises.--Presents don't have to come wrapped in bows. Sometimes presents are the people themselves--something comforting when you're someone who's never secure. And so you leave with more than which you came.
Rest is for the wicked, and so it's possible for you. Another stranger, another gift, another conversation that you actually welcome. So maybe this person isn't like you--you were never one to put others before you anyway--but they understand something about you just the same, and they have a bond much like yours. Some things are attractive, and similarities pull to you.
But the night always follows the day, and you have places to go, brothers to destroy. The kindness of the day dissipates. Monsters only come out at night.
Life's confusing, even more so when you don't know where you are and everyone's talking about being crazy. But it's one of those things you live with, you know? You push on and go forward especially when you've got a brother's not-death to plan.
But that's the way it is. Maybe you'll find out that you're in a different time, a different place, and realize there's so many possibilities awaiting you. So much pain that you can share. And you have all the time in the world. So why don't you follow a lady and see where she leads? Or you could always find your own path. But that's hard when you won't be left alone, or left to do what you want.
Maybe something else then, a whole different path, leading you up and away from the things you've left behind. And if you learn there are monsters? If yours are still better? And if things aren't working out like they should... well. Maybe you still need another path to be put before you.
The night ends. But that fate isn't for you.
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
