mute_clay | skirting the edge of the deep dark

(continued from here)

Nobody looks at him. If you’re right at the edge of the deep darkness, nobody looks at you. Not even if you almost knock them over, running past.

It’s hurting to breathe now. That is good. Hurt is good. Hurt fill up everything inside, even the mind. Hurt silences everything. No names. No faces.

He knows it’s cold, too cold for being outside for long with no shoes on and wearing nothing but jeans and a shirt. His body knows. His mind doesn’t care.

Flee. Flee.

She’s found another one. Another one like – Him. Maybe that has been the case all along. No difference. Maybe she saw himself as –

No.

Running faster, trying to outrun the thought with burning lungs and burning eyes. But thoughts are fast. Quicker than any man’s feet. And they never tire.

He is slowing down. There are no buildings now. Just trees. Trees.

He doesn’t want to think. To feel. To – he touched her - remember.

The ground is damp.
If he curls up tight enough he can almost fit between two large roots.
Yes
Splaying his palms.
Yes
Turning his head a little, breathing, tasting earth.
Yes

And now, staying here. Breathing slowly, evenly. Listening to the sounds of birds wakening, leaves moving in the breeze. Leaving no room for thoughts. Letting the forest hold him.

It’s hard. Fear has sharp fangs and it does not let go without a fight.

Threaded | Flat

Ranuccio had considered going to the beach, to see the sea again, but then his steps has carried him in another direction. The leaves crunch under his feet, and there's a wet scent in the air. Alley boy that he was, gutter brat, he feels awed a little by the tall trees and the whispers at the top.

Jason was off, busy with his new job, and although a voice in him was telling him to go look for Aragorn, he resisted as always. Why would he share his thoughts on Jason with Aragorn? He would eventually, he knew he wanted to, deep down, but for the moment they were his, he as possessive of what he had as always. Jason with his cheeky grin and his lost eyes, sometimes, and his wish to make everything better for Ran..

It's the colours that tell him that there's something different. At least this legacy of Michele's is a good one. Dark, dirty blond and pink flesh and light blue shirt..Clay. Ranuccio first thouhgt is that he is hurt. He seems hurt, the way he is lying down...so kneels beside him, and he can see then that he is not.

Only lost. "Clay...?" he calls softly.

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