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Scars

Posted 15 November 2007, 7.06 am by shaggy

As he hid behind the debris, he took the moment to let all the emotions wash over him. They had been hidden for so long that they came stubbornly; what is hidden is not revealed easily. The death, the destruction, the betrayal... he rose it to his throat, and in a choked, silent, violent sob, it came out and he began to purge everything that he had kept inside.

He could not be heard. And so as everything came out, it was hidden still. He had no voice, no means of expression, only mental images that came unannounced. There were horrible ones, indeed-- visions of flesh torn, screaming children... but most horrifying of all were the visions of happiness. Horror came and went, and he was happy to leave it behind. But along with the horror, each moment of happiness that he once had was left behind him, to never be touched again.

Every love letter she had ever snuck into his pocket, every smile she had ever passed onto him, these thoughts brought more violence to him than the knowledge that everything was gone... if memory was destroyed as well, he could be content, blissful; the exhilaration of this violent new world would almost serve as entertainment.

The others had almost seen him cry. Sandra had asked him if he was married or had a girlfriend; he had answered with a smile that covered his true response. "Once." The silence after the response was filled with memories; for a moment, Sandra's brown hair was blond, her blue eyes green. And he found that he could still remember a face that had once greeted him on a daily basis.

Fuck, he thought to himself. Not now.

He had managed to sneak away from the camp to cry.

The new world was welcoming after his wife left. The loud growls in the darkness, the creatures that all seemed to crave human flesh or at least human misery... they all served to numb the pain. It was in idle moments such as these that everything came back, happiness as bitter as the sharpest blade, cutting and scratching. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, and that he hated her. He wanted to make love to her and bash her head against the rock he hid behind. He wondered if she was still alive and secretly hoped that he would never meet her again.

His sobs almost became vocal. He took the knife from his pocket and before even thinking about it took a quick slice out of his arm. The pain knocked him even lower, but it was something he could focus on.

It was ironic that after hell seemed to have belched out the most hideous of monsters, it was a woman that had truly weakened him. He had clawed out the eyes of great and terrible beings, was dragged by sharp claws of winged things and dropped from great heights, but it was the images of happiness, cursed memories that came accidentally, that was beginning to break him.

He wondered what it would feel like to just give up. Though pain came naturally, he could not kill himself, but what if he just simply refused to fight anymore? Fed the beast instead of fight it?

He knew the answer to that. Only idle hands can contemplate such things.

There was a roar that sounded close to camp. He wiped his eyes, slipped his sleeve over the fresh wound on an already scarred arm, and prepared for another fight.

The last idle thought he allowed himself was to wonder how many scars on his body were accidental, and how many were given so that he could wake up to life, or to punish himself for failing.

One last roar, and the knowledge that he was partly responsible for more lives than his own, and everything was buried, forgotten, a scar to return to only when one had time to look.

Alexander
on 27 February 2008, 7.21 am
Excellent, now we just need moar!


wdbdesign
on 5 April 2008, 7.07 am
One of my favorite SK shorts is "The Mist."
This is better...I want more!


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