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FireHis mouth was no stranger to being sewn, with thread made of the purest red, his lips burning with each stab of the needle. The human language had long since failed his soaring mind, all inkling of rage being a cruel trick to his mind. Every curse known to man trickling up his veins only to be defeated cold and sharp at the throat, cracking slow and cutting, freezing a coat of glass to his neck.
All breathing had stopped.
Because there stood Rigby, so weak and pathetic with his eyes crying out these things that scared Mordecai, his heart beating a tune that was just so familiar to Mordecai- a beat playing his name, drumming it out slow and smooth, kicking along as fast as the tiniest heart could pound. It was unmistakable. And it scared Mordecai. His friend, his only real friend that put up with all the crap that he stupidly talked them into, or tried to talk them out of, or tried nothing at all, standing weak and vulnerable with eyes so wide and empty of ev
Him::Self as Cause::EffectTo take a fall and to crash deep into the core was not a failure to him, the boy with a golden cover on his hands, the boy with teeth that spoke every word without using sound. To land on both feet and to stand tall and proud was neither a success to him, the child with body made of leather, the child with a skull made of steel. To take a step and to live the next day was the only success and the only failure; to stand on top and look at the bottom, to see the face of your own mortality waiting patiently for a predetermined date, to know that reason had long since left for another mind was the true victory to him.
And the true defeat, his lack of bravery.
To see Death and to not even flinch was not the strength of man, but the weakness of a fool. To spit in the eye of Satan and insult the dignity of God as so you may live to be a being that transcends both heaven and hell in a single moment was not a miracle, but a misguided faith. To see the laws of the world and to take a pen with in
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
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