it is not walls of a palace painted red. it is not scalding hot, but it is, within that impossible dream, warm. it is summer, and there are two children. there are birds, and they sing. the foliage is an exuberating green. there is no true distinction between the blue of the sky above, and the clear blue of the river below.
kaveh remembers laughter, but does not remember who it belonged to. the second child, his body tells him, is a friend. his mind does not give them traits. in such colorful world, the child is blacked out. younger than him, his heart tells him. shorter, his mind whispers. an encounter that would not be remembered, a friendship that withered through time.
kaveh rouses, and is greeted by an unexpected vacancy in his chest, as though his heart is missing.
it takes a moment for him to realize this is not his bed, nor this is his room. he sits up in a panic, and notes first that he is, seemingly, alone. the crimson red of his eyes follow the length of his legs, covered by blankets that are not his. there is no pain to be felt. a hand is brought to the back of his neck.
clean. untouched. he hasn't been marked. it is, against his will, disorientating, because it does not make sense. he wills it not to.
the same crimson red scans the room. food, served. a small box that begs for attention. a stolen nightstand. a closed door. kaveh rises.
the chill air against bare skin is a reminder of actions he does not wish to perceive as his. he dresses himself first, and ignores everything else. soft, measured steps take him, instead, before a door that should only be closed when one stands behind it.
(not once has kaveh stopped to think, why? the heat is, for now, gone. reason should be the pilot of his brain, but reason, for the former prince of lokapala, would not bring him to a man he has chosen to be the target of all his blame, his hatred, his anguish. there is no biological, raw desire that controls his actions anymore. and yet, kaveh moves. as though he seeks for something that he himself is not aware of.)
and so, kaveh knocks. ]
I know you're in there. [ not with unchallenging certainty, no. but if he were to bet his life on it, kaveh finds that he would not waver in his decision. ] Open the door.
no subject
it is not walls of a palace painted red. it is not scalding hot, but it is, within that impossible dream, warm. it is summer, and there are two children. there are birds, and they sing. the foliage is an exuberating green. there is no true distinction between the blue of the sky above, and the clear blue of the river below.
kaveh remembers laughter, but does not remember who it belonged to. the second child, his body tells him, is a friend. his mind does not give them traits. in such colorful world, the child is blacked out. younger than him, his heart tells him. shorter, his mind whispers. an encounter that would not be remembered, a friendship that withered through time.
kaveh rouses, and is greeted by an unexpected vacancy in his chest, as though his heart is missing.
it takes a moment for him to realize this is not his bed, nor this is his room. he sits up in a panic, and notes first that he is, seemingly, alone. the crimson red of his eyes follow the length of his legs, covered by blankets that are not his. there is no pain to be felt. a hand is brought to the back of his neck.
clean. untouched. he hasn't been marked. it is, against his will, disorientating, because it does not make sense. he wills it not to.
the same crimson red scans the room. food, served. a small box that begs for attention. a stolen nightstand. a closed door. kaveh rises.
the chill air against bare skin is a reminder of actions he does not wish to perceive as his. he dresses himself first, and ignores everything else. soft, measured steps take him, instead, before a door that should only be closed when one stands behind it.
(not once has kaveh stopped to think, why? the heat is, for now, gone. reason should be the pilot of his brain, but reason, for the former prince of lokapala, would not bring him to a man he has chosen to be the target of all his blame, his hatred, his anguish. there is no biological, raw desire that controls his actions anymore. and yet, kaveh moves. as though he seeks for something that he himself is not aware of.)
and so, kaveh knocks. ]
I know you're in there. [ not with unchallenging certainty, no. but if he were to bet his life on it, kaveh finds that he would not waver in his decision. ] Open the door.