Gone are the days you were there protecting me; so cold, so alone

It was late. Real late. So late that the sun hadn't been up for hours and that it wouldn't be up for even more. He would be convinced that the sun wouldn't return if he was coherent, but no- Grimshaw had been thrown into rocks, drug through riptides, and yet somehow the beast of a man still lived. Well, he wasn't much of a beast anymore. He'd lost what little weight he had and even a part of his face, still raw and sore as if it had happened in the days before he washed up on this beach.

A massive amount of water suddenly heaved from the lungs of the frail man, the salt water burning all the way up his throat on its sudden expulsion from his lungs. Grimshaw groaned as his eyes rolled forward from the back of his skull and back, struggling to come to and focus on the blurry and spinning world around him before coughing a few more drops of seawater onto the sand he laid on. Nothing had stopped spinning yet, but he tried to stand anyway. Or at least get up, but he promptly fell back into the sand, too weak and sore to move away from the water that threatened to drag him back in. He hated the water.

Suddenly he shivered, his soaked body cold in the warm summer night. His eyes squeezed closed as he tried to curl his aching limbs into himself, wincing and stopping before they made it. Unable to move away from the ocean, unable to curl in on himself, he wondered why he was here. Alive, really, was his question. He missed Malachai, he missed the Armada, he hated this. Though he didn't realize how close to home he really was, one much closer than the other. He already lost hope, long before now, of seeing his loved ones again. He didn't even care how he got here, or why he was here, he just wanted to be home. And so quietly he sobbed, adding his tears into the sand mixed with his salty lung-water, wondering why life hated him so fucking much.

"Speech!"

Code © Skelle 2022 | Art © Kianxiety 2022