Where the wind don't change and nothing on the ground will ever grow
No hope just lies, and you're taught to cry in your pillow
But I'll survive...
The thing I have called Face-dancer sits facing me by the pool of water that marks the centre of my camp. Pale, translucent skin and tendrils for limbs, it has learned that I have more fight in me if I'm actually awake Don't you just love fighting, little angel? and so now it sits and waits for me to wake up, eat and find water before it starts its nightly routine.
I've tried changing my sleep cycle or simply not eating or drinking in the hope that it will leave me be for a night, but it doesn't. On those days No peace, no peace, no peace, little bird it simply waited for me to pass out from lack of sleep and took me then instead.
I'm still breathing...
As much as I hate this thing our twisted relationship has come to benefit me in this place. I forget how long I've been here, having long run out of skin to carve the days upon, so long in fact that those scars have healed and I could have lain out a new set on top had I the whim or No whims in here my sweet seraphim, Father taught you better than to have whims, didn't I? inclination.
After a decade I decided to stop hoping my crew would come for me. It seemed a nice round number to settle on and perhaps it was the lack of days or nights in this place All purple, so purple... do you remember what the stars look like? Do you miss the Sun;s kiss on your skin?, or the nightly mental brutality from Face-dancer; whatever the case, I had given up all hope of rescue and instead held out for a passing friendly ship of any sort really to stop and notice and get me anywhere but here.
All alone little bird, but not. Father's here. Father's got you
Face-dancer keeps me safe when I try to sleep. He? She? It? It. That it has marked me as its prey is my only assumption and whilst I'm still tested each and every night, whilst the screaming goes on and on and the mandrakes sing and beckon to me, it watches over me and stands guard. Sometimes it leaves meat or odd berries and I know that they're safe to eat because this thing needs me alive to agree to its demands, but I'm always careful. I don't know these things, I don't know their ways. It could very easily grow bored of me, but it hasn't. You beg for poison in your dreams little angel, but poison won't kill you here. We both know that. Yet.
I catch my reflection in the waters surface and am caught transfixed for a moment. The face staring back at me isn't the one that came here. The fire isn't burning so close to the surface of her eyes. She's tired and weary looking, metal parts white and dulled now, hair also turned white by some unknown force We think it's face-dancer, don't we dear? at work in this strange place. Maybe it's a side effect of the food? Or lack of rejuvi-therapy I don't know - I know this reflection is mine and I know that should I ever get out of here, I will have changed inside as much as I've changed physically and after so long here, should the reaction of those I know knew and love loved be to plant a bullet between my eyes, I think I'm in a place now where I'll accept it with thanks.
Not here though, never in here. This bullet I wear doesn't have my name on it and I've seen my death and know that it won't be here in this place, so far from the Emperors light and the killer who will put me down if when it becomes necessary.
I look up and regard Face-dancer's eyeless skull for a moment and I know that despite its natural lack of facial features, it is curious and eager to begin the nights proceedings. Sighing, I drink the water that has no taste at all and settle myself back in a space where I won't destroy any of my camp by accident as I fight my way through yet another night or day.
The dreams rush in.
- Acheoexhumator C4-RREE J4-XX
- Posts: 60
- Joined: Tue Sep 30, 2014 2:03 pm
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