[ Soul Campaign ] Crushing
Jun. 29th, 2010 09:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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cemetery_things+ Title: Crushing
+ Characters: Rhode Kamelot
+ Rating: T
+ Word Count: 314
+ Author's Notes: A fic based in the roleplay![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
soul_campaign, a game based on the series Soul Eater. If you're interested, feel free to stop by and look at the various communities.
She feels like she's suffocating.
It's not the heat. It's not the walls.
She goes out onto the balcony, into the rain, inhaling the thick and humid air in a feeble attempt to regain her composure.
She's trapped.
Inside of her skin, inside of her head-- beneath this sky, within this world.
She wants to escape this deafening silence, this all-too-human body. Her dreams are nothing but vague nightmares of her own death, not the worlds and vivid creations she is so accustomed to.
This long-- this month of hell-- has been enough to make her feel ready to go insane.
A year more-- twelve times longer than what has already passed, an eternity of vapid humanity and uselessness and waiting--
She'll simply die from the futility of it.
She can't even let it out, in this condition.
What will she do?
Break things? Throw furniture? Scream and cry?
She doesn't know what she can do, and even if she did, she has no idea where to start.
She lets herself down, onto her knees, hands against the wet stone wall, slowly bringing her forehead to rest against the slightly cooler rock.
Without her war, what is she? Without the Akuma, the Exorcists to kill, the Innocence to destroy?
There isn't even an opportunity for their "life", with their dog, and her mother, and politics. The Exorcists made sure that was impossible here.
There isn't anything, and perhaps that means she isn't anything.
Her dress is soaked through, and her face and hands are scraped from leaning too hard against the wall. She shoves herself back, sitting on the wet tiles and finally just laying back, sprawled in front of the glass railing like she's passed out in the rain.
Her chest is nothing but an aching space of hollow rage and despair, sucking at her insides until she feels nothing whatsoever.
Noah don't cry, of course.
Today, she can let the rain do it for her.
+ Characters: Rhode Kamelot
+ Rating: T
+ Word Count: 314
+ Author's Notes: A fic based in the roleplay
soul_campaign, a game based on the series Soul Eater. If you're interested, feel free to stop by and look at the various communities. She feels like she's suffocating.
It's not the heat. It's not the walls.
She goes out onto the balcony, into the rain, inhaling the thick and humid air in a feeble attempt to regain her composure.
She's trapped.
Inside of her skin, inside of her head-- beneath this sky, within this world.
She wants to escape this deafening silence, this all-too-human body. Her dreams are nothing but vague nightmares of her own death, not the worlds and vivid creations she is so accustomed to.
This long-- this month of hell-- has been enough to make her feel ready to go insane.
A year more-- twelve times longer than what has already passed, an eternity of vapid humanity and uselessness and waiting--
She'll simply die from the futility of it.
She can't even let it out, in this condition.
What will she do?
Break things? Throw furniture? Scream and cry?
She doesn't know what she can do, and even if she did, she has no idea where to start.
She lets herself down, onto her knees, hands against the wet stone wall, slowly bringing her forehead to rest against the slightly cooler rock.
Without her war, what is she? Without the Akuma, the Exorcists to kill, the Innocence to destroy?
There isn't even an opportunity for their "life", with their dog, and her mother, and politics. The Exorcists made sure that was impossible here.
There isn't anything, and perhaps that means she isn't anything.
Her dress is soaked through, and her face and hands are scraped from leaning too hard against the wall. She shoves herself back, sitting on the wet tiles and finally just laying back, sprawled in front of the glass railing like she's passed out in the rain.
Her chest is nothing but an aching space of hollow rage and despair, sucking at her insides until she feels nothing whatsoever.
Noah don't cry, of course.
Today, she can let the rain do it for her.
