#﹠⠀ ⠀ 𝐃. 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐊 ⠀ ⠀ 〳 ⠀ ⠀tasks

[mustdies]

TASK 003. TWO JOINTS & A FUNERAL. AN UNFORTUNATE SERIES OF EULOGIES. trigger warnings for death, religious imagery, suicidal ideation, anxiety attacks.

in life and apparently in death, there were the ones who leave and the ones who remembered. the startling thing was dante wished it were him. spare everyone the trouble of worrying after him in those pockets of time where he were only a thought. a phone call away. of course the bastard had to be the one to leave them all here, utterly bereaved. death, you see, was the ultimate freedom. richard had done the selfish thing: become entirely untethered. another hole in the ground, raw & gaping, awaiting occupancy. he knows, much to his detriment that there will be no space held for the rest of them. that even in the afterlife there were to be no reunion such as this. certainly not in a way that mattered. the lawn is orchestrated like an open air chapel, sky hung thick with a parting overcast, chairs arranged like pews. except this were no church, not with such profound abandonment of religion. these people only knew to call for their gods when they needed a favor. can he hear their wiles now⸺if dante knelt right there in the morning dew would god be more likely to answer his prayers? it's odd, this great good place made into a place of forever mourning. it was like burying the family dog in the backyard, you only missed him when you realized there was no one left to kick down. you missed him because you knew you could never leave, that he would never come with you. the funeral had only been a ritual of grief, however widespread. people gathering to let each other know that they hadn't forgotten about you. that even below the earth, there was still work to be done. you're only dead when there's no one left to remember, right? there had been some brief rendition of a frank sinatra croon when the reality began to seep. or rather, when it had began to cave upon him. there were no forewarnings, only a culmination like pebbles all rolling to the same place. you don't know what you're hiding from until you've built that wall, feel the weight when it crumbles. he blinks and suddenly dante has been called to speak, briefly imagines he'd gone first when he rose from his seat⸺it was easier to be forgotten that way. there's a slight huff, remembering only then that he needed to breathe. september will kill him, he thinks. like father, like son. or ward, more accurately. dante walks down the aisle splitting the many rows of unfamiliars. he'd chosen to sit toward the back of the crowd, only to spare himself the embarassment of being acknowledged in such a state. he stands before them, a boy again. sights brimming with crystalline pools, stood at the podium shone in the warm morning light overlooking their great big country house. it felt like he were being punished for his crimes, that the torment of all he'd done had culminated as this. now it were merely a matter of waiting to see who cast the first stone, how long until he too were cut down. he cannot bare the snarling crowd, lying in wait with their hungry eyes. they're tearing him apart, even if they aren't really⸺he can feel it. a pause, as if to unclench richard's fist from his heart. there's a grating stammer projected from the microphone. he then starts, clearing his throat as if it were any help. " i uh, i had something written but ... " dante fumbles briefly from pocket to pocket, feeling for the small slip of paper his eulogy had been written on. his speech was shit anyways. " it wasn't supposed to be like this. " bites the inside of his cheek, mind drifting somewhere else entirely. " but it is. and rich did good⸺did his best. " tears threaten to well still, he looks away while there's still a chance. " and we're here. god we're fucked, but we're here. " another exasperated breath, distant quiver in his voice. " and uh⸺i don't think some of us will ever stop missing him. "

[mustdies]

TASK 002. THE VERY END OF THE WORLD.

THE SCENE BELOW IS A MORSEL OF WHAT HELL HAS COME UNFURLED SINCE THE MAN OF THE HOUSE DIED. THIS IS THE REBEL'S SIDE OF THE STORY.

it's a weekday, your "father" is dead and you're on the losing side of a prizefight.

it is the nature of man to harbor two sets of teeth. one set: all soft-mawed, just enough to take down your food with. and the other, should you be voracious enough, had been sanded into points keen enough to dig down to marrow. tonight dante bore his second set with a vampiric sort of urgency. the sort of wanting to spill blood that almost made such contortion an act of elegance. in another life you would have wept for times like this, knelt before the gods you sought to slaughter if it lulled you closer to divinity. still, you are just as righteous⸺your cause just as noble. you do not raise a sword, you raise your fists. you fight only because you have to. a certain ease of slipping between movements, you may be breathless but the trill of your people chanting in the sake of your glory only stokes you. violence pounds within you to an arrhythmic beat, it’s similar to how you harbor bits of a man you never knew within you. he who would perish far before his time and damn you to curdle like old milk in the sun in his succession. there is a buffer for words and only an orchestra of clattering metal followed by bodies flailing to the ground in an ignited heap. there’s a scramble for dominance, a closed fist here that says: yield and i will allow you this one mercy. even in the fight for your life your soft heart bleeds, a maiming of self before you can realize. you don’t note the ichor that plumes until you feel something damp blooming beneath this red hot anger. there’s a metallic pang that wets your maw, the first ounce of blood spilled here was your own. isn’t that cruel⸺to do the flaying for opponent? why now must you insist on leading yourself to the slaught. you had once held you heart, open-palmed & still beating for anyone willing to bare it and for that you will suffer. within this casing of tendon & marrow, you harbor an age-old resolve: you may only be a man of your time but the grief you carry is one bestowed by those who preceded you and you claim it and make yourself immortal. so if you must carry the same deathlessness of those before you, you will be worshiped like them: in blood. your suffering doesn't make you special.  it made you empty, and isn’t that worse? like a snake lurching through tall grass, you spring forth only when the other is within reach. the superficial maim laces a trail of blood alongside the hollow of the other’s cheek.  his body is a battleground and it is here that you plant your flag and pledge to forever disregard your softness. you make yourself into something real as an organ in his grasp, opponent's arms careened around a throat humming a circadian beat against his skin. you cannot pinpoint when it happens but there’s a familiar hum that courses through you, YOU KNOW THE ENDING. for every throat there is a set of hands made to snuff and for every chest there is a dagger. you gash yourself on love and call it a betrayal. you swallow your own wounds. even standing on the cusp of death, you are his to maim. for the second time in your career you lose, and for the first time you've been given a reason to do so.

[mustdies]

TASK 001. INSIDE THE BEDROOM OF THE REBEL, UNTOUCHED SINCE THE SUMMER OF '98.

AS PICTURED, BEDROOM DOORS OPEN INTO A ROMANTICALLY SWEEPING SPACE MARRED BY THE DESIGN TASTES OF A THEN-TEENAGED BOY. VERY LITTLE AUGMENTATION HAS BEEN MADE SINCE HIS DEPARTURE BESIDES REFRESHED SHEETS & A PERPETUALLY CLEAN BATHROOM. CONJOINED TO THE MAIN ROOM IS A STUDY SPACE THAT HAS LONG BEEN CONVERTED INTO A MAKESHIFT READING NOOK WHERE FELLOW WARDS ( SHOULD THEY DARE VENTURE INTO HIS BEDROOM ) HAPPEN TO CONGREGATE THE MOST. ADJOINED TO THESE TWO SPACES IS THE EN-SUITE BATHROOM, ADMITTEDLY THE LAST TESTAMENT MADE TO THE ORIGINAL CLASSICAL STYLING OF THE SPACE. UNMENTIONABLES INCLUDE A STASH OF POT IN THE CUSHION OF THE MATTRESS, A SHIRT DANTE STOLE FROM ANGUS IN 95' & A STOLEN COPY OF SABRINA (1954) ON VHS.

FURTHER INSPIRATION HERE.