Crucifiction
07-08-2023, 11:57 PM
he seems to have taken her view on death with a mixture of amusement and scorn, an almost mocking curiosity twisting those shadowers features. Dulla wonders if she ought to defend herself, if she ought to feel obligated to; but in truth, what does she know? the beliefs she’d grown up on, the morals her family had clung to and chosen over her, had brought about her own destruction. perhaps she truly couldn’t trust a word they’d fed her, perhaps it’d all been poison, in the end.
in any case, she has little time to dwell. a shriek builds and disperses within her throat in a matter of seconds as the man lunges for her, and for a heart-stopping second she reconciles to herself her own bloody end, splattered across the floor at the whimsy of her new acquaintance. her eyes fly shut, but the pain never comes - and when she opens her eyes, it is to watch as the boy rends flesh from bone, tearing the cranium of the creature from its neck with little more than a decisive yank. a cold chill skitters down her spine, stomach roiling as he regards her with those dual-coloured eyes, teeth clamped around the cranium like a morbid trophy. every muscle and tendon twitches with the urge to run. but she forces herself to stay, to look; examines every gory, horrifying inch. the initial sight of all that blood is nauseating, bringing terror forth with almost automatic ease. but as she forces herself to look, to see beyond the tearing of flesh and the snapping of bone, a clarity begins to fill her mind. death: random, impersonal. uncontrollable. her whole life, Dulla has never had control over anything - the very idea of it was wrested from her grasp at birth, and placated with hollow promises of glory and honour.
was death not an honour, in its own way? Dulla recalls the desperate rasping of the creature, it’s shallow, agonised breaths. was this not better than the alternative?: a slow, painful demise filled with loneliness and terror. choosing one’s end, or the end of another…didn’t it remove the miserable uncertainty of it all? she barely flinches when the head comes to land at her feet, it’s dull, glassy eyes staring unseeing into the distance. “do you fancy yourself some kind of god, then?” she asks softly, eyes never leaving the creature’s. it is as though she is speaking directly to it. “do you seek the final word on the deaths of others?” shaking slightly, Dulla reaches out and closes the creature’s eyes, letting them fall shut for the final time.
in any case, she has little time to dwell. a shriek builds and disperses within her throat in a matter of seconds as the man lunges for her, and for a heart-stopping second she reconciles to herself her own bloody end, splattered across the floor at the whimsy of her new acquaintance. her eyes fly shut, but the pain never comes - and when she opens her eyes, it is to watch as the boy rends flesh from bone, tearing the cranium of the creature from its neck with little more than a decisive yank. a cold chill skitters down her spine, stomach roiling as he regards her with those dual-coloured eyes, teeth clamped around the cranium like a morbid trophy. every muscle and tendon twitches with the urge to run. but she forces herself to stay, to look; examines every gory, horrifying inch. the initial sight of all that blood is nauseating, bringing terror forth with almost automatic ease. but as she forces herself to look, to see beyond the tearing of flesh and the snapping of bone, a clarity begins to fill her mind. death: random, impersonal. uncontrollable. her whole life, Dulla has never had control over anything - the very idea of it was wrested from her grasp at birth, and placated with hollow promises of glory and honour.
was death not an honour, in its own way? Dulla recalls the desperate rasping of the creature, it’s shallow, agonised breaths. was this not better than the alternative?: a slow, painful demise filled with loneliness and terror. choosing one’s end, or the end of another…didn’t it remove the miserable uncertainty of it all? she barely flinches when the head comes to land at her feet, it’s dull, glassy eyes staring unseeing into the distance. “do you fancy yourself some kind of god, then?” she asks softly, eyes never leaving the creature’s. it is as though she is speaking directly to it. “do you seek the final word on the deaths of others?” shaking slightly, Dulla reaches out and closes the creature’s eyes, letting them fall shut for the final time.
Current time: 11-09-2024, 03:21 AM
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