HELLO
Rain is on the wind. The taste chills the back of his throat, fresh and cold. Gray clouds obscure the sun, darken his already limited vision. Red eyes stare into his, squinting just as he does, trying to overcome the shadows. The eyes are pained, crimson with need and the bitter hurt of trust betrayed.
The eyes don't leave his as the gloved fist connects with his jaw. He sprawls on the damp earth, hands splayed out behind him and pants soaking up the moisture, gaze still stolen by the burning crimson...
Crimson tints the horizon. They sit on the hillside, one leaning on the other, one pair of eyes watching the sun's fiery demise, the other watching the first. By slow degrees the light climaxes, burns itself out in a peak of scarlet and bronze, fades into a soft peach and pink and deepens to a far more appealing ebony blue. He sighs. Lavender eyes fix on him, intent. Concerned? No, a smile. He realizes the false assumption that's been made. There's a painful hitch in his throat and suddenly it's hard to breathe...
Breathe, he reminds his straining lungs. His body is one skinny mass of ache. Sweat layers his skin, pools in the tiny hollows behind his ears, above his lip, below his Adam's apple; it drips off his nose, mixes with the dirt below to form a tiny mud puddle, tinted with red, reflected in the eyes staring down at him. They narrow, malice dancing in their depths. An evil chuckle degenerates into maniacal laughter. Another bid for conquest, another fight for survival. Gritting his teeth, he ignores the pain...
Pain pours from those eyes. The lavender imprisons him through the haze of the dirt- smeared glass, radiating a childish betrayal and searing mistrust. 'You're leaving?' The engines rumble, the whistle blows, the train moves away even as the lavender is overlaid with a phantom crimson, his mind burning...
Burning lungs and legs on fire take him the last few steps then give in, dumping him in a huddled mass on the sidewalk, muscles spasming involuntarily and hoarse breath carrying over the silence. A night wind brushes his cheek, reminding him of touch. He stares, transfixed by the empty lot at the end of the cul-de-sac, barely more than an alleyway. Grass peeks through the few tiny cracks marring the otherwise smooth concrete. Months of growth.
Thunder rumbles nearby, then the skies cry. Standing, arms out to his sides, reaching just so, head titled back and mouth slightly open, he remembers the short story in which someone drowns themselves this way. Moisture spills down his cheeks; he cries into the rain .
Disclaimer: All images and characters used and abused within belong to their individual exalted creators, and are reprinted here without permission. Please don't sue me. I'm poor. All scans were created by me, except where otherwise noted. Please ask if you want to use them. The basement is getting kinda full, I don't want to have to put any more thieves down there. All fanart used within belongs to the individual artists, who kick far more arse than you do so don't try anything funny. Much thanks goes to gir.n3.net, from whence most of the Invader Zim pics used in the layout came.
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