the-hound-and-the-raven

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

"Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief."-Anne Carson

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Kneeling beside a fresh grave, fingers driven into the soil as of to wrench free the newly buried. You do not know what you feel, you cannot name it, the emotions a whirling white maelstrom hidden silently behind thick glass.

"Why does tragedy exist?"

Your voice is thick and strange to your own ears, and you distantly recognise that there should be tears, that the heaviness in your throat should be accompanied by a flood, but you cannot find them. Your eyes are dry.

"Because you are full of rage."

Their voice is quiet but firm behind you, and you don't turn to look. You cannot turn to look, because the earth is fresh and dark in front of you, has been disturbed and wrenched from its place to make room for another. Your eyes are dry and you cannot tear them away from the rich soil that presses so heavily on the one beneath. Your lungs are heavy, as if pressed beneath the same weight. But in the wet hollow they make, a spark ignites at the words you've been offered. A shape in the clouds amongst the storm behind the glass. It has been named, and steps forward. Rage, white hot and blood red, clawing at your ribs like a forest fire, like something trying to break free. Blood boils in your veins, and you can see your hands are shaking in the dirt.

"Why am I full of rage?"

Your voice quakes with the force of it, vibrates through the air like heatwaves, like you could breathe fire. The voice comes again from behind you, achingly gentle now, soft as spring showers.

"Because you are full of grief."

You feel your shoulders hunch at the word, brows pulling together as you try to find it behind the rage. Where are you? You ask the space behind the glass in your chest. Where is grief?

Grief answers like thunder, like a mudslide, like an avalanche. Here.

And it is.

It fills your chest, the hollows in your bones, flooding your veins with heaviness and aching, terrible, unbearable loss. Your eyes aren't dry anymore. They are overflowing, stinging, dripping liquid sorrow. Hot as rage, salty as the grieving sea, your eyes overflow. There isn't enough air in your lungs anymore, your rib cage works like bellows to try and correct it, but your chest is full of salt water and fire and freshly turned soil.

You kneel in the dirt beside a fresh grave, and you weep.

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

The Beauty of a Body

I'll also tag this one, but this one deals with body horror and gore, please be advised.

I wish I could tear my skin apart Crack open my ribs and lift out my lungs Wish I could expose these ugly organs to the sky

Perhaps the rain would wash away this blood of mine And maybe this sick anger in my gut would go with it And this fear behind my sternum would disappear

If I could, I would unspool these colourful intestines Spread them over the ground like lace Would I finally find beauty in my body then, I wonder Able to marvel at its vividness against the grass?

Break these bones of mine And free me from them Would I feel at peace then? Perhaps not

The Greeks said that warriors grow from the teeth of dragons What would grow from mine If I were to scatter them into the dirt? Maybe something better Maybe not.

I wish I could unravel this body of mine Pick apart the sinews like a tapestry And see where it went wrong

Rip open my throat Reach inside and pull out these words That are trapped inside They are waiting

Pull them free And leave my voice box behind I don't need it anyways

What a lovely view it would be To stare at the sky Until the crows come for my eyes

I wish I could leave this broken body behind And take from it what I am

There is a violence in this sadness And a hunger in this grief

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

It's Raining Here

It's raining here

Feels fitting really

Not a loud thunderstorm Just a soft summer shower The skies a gentle grey

The wind is quiet It barely moves the trees But it's nice all the same Breaking up the angry summer heat

There's something familiar in it In the way the clouds drift aimlessly The way the sun is there You can barely see it

It's raining here today And it feels quite familiar

It's always raining here

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

What You Forgot

(Oh boy buckle up we get even angrier, but we've got a new recipient)

Everybody always tells me When I say that I'm angry, that I want a fight "Forgive him, forget him, be the better man.” And part of me thinks they're right.

But I wasn't taught forgiveness.

All that fear And all that rage They don't mix to make mercy

You raised me to be quiet You raised me to be accepting And taught me I was nothing but dirt and water A clay figure for your molding hands And told me the mud staining your skin was my fault

But in these bones there is steel and stone In this blood there is iron And in this hollow chest of mine there is a fire And I hope you're ready to burn.

Because for all the things you taught to me All the lessons you made sure to share All the skills you passed down

You forgot forgiveness.

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

The Weight of Two

I'm trying to move forward And fuck, I've come so far But you, like you always have

Stop me

From the very beginning From the day I learned the word “Father” It's been a boulder tied to my ankles And fuck is it hard to swim

You say you love me So where were you? You say you're sorry Are you? You offer me pretty lies But you always deliver the same thing

Disappointment

Ironic really You like to talk about how hard you had it About how bad it was for you And I get it, I do But buddy, you just passed that shit on And now I'm going through enough for two

You like to say you were scared And I wasn't? Like to say you were frightened So am I Like to tell me how you're afraid you failed me And promise you won't.

You did.

You promised you wouldn't leave me again.

You lied.

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

The Sins of the Father

Ya buckle up folks this is where we get a n g r y

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions That much they tell you freely But what's always left out Is that they don't have to be your own

Your good intentions began before I did But when I got here The road was already under my feet And it's destination nowhere pleasant

The sins of the father are visited upon the sons They tell us that too The part they left out of this one Is that it's not always the sons that suffer

Your sins weigh heavier on my shoulders Than they do on your own So when you pray Pray your God is more forgiving than I am

Because I have sayings of my own

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth I was left blind on the path to Hell you laid for me Seems only right That you should feel the same

There is no such thing as justice, All the best that we can hope for is revenge. I used to think there was such a thing As justice, as just rewards and fairness But if you taught me one thing

It's that there isn't

So I'll make my own justice And you can call it revenge Even if I have to claw it up from the earth Or rip it out of the sky

And you?

You should probably keep praying.

Because something nobody ever told you Is that sometimes A kicked dog will bite back And that the ones who carry your sins for you Get tired

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

Chest Cavity

Why did you have to fit Right into my careful voids? Iknow I never filled any of yours That I never fit your broken edges

I was a beat to the left of your tune But you were spot on to mine I could never hope to be what you needed So why was there a place in my soul That only you could fill?

I never knew it was there Had never felt the emptiness inside it It had simply been waiting Breathless and silent Waiting there for you

And you stepped into it so easily, Nestled in the hollow of my bones so comfortably, Pressed tight against the back of my sternum In place of my heartbeat

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so fucking sorry That I could never be what you needed me to be I never knew what it was you needed And you never told me

I love you I love you I fucking love you I never got to tell you when you were my best friend And I know that you were probably suffocating In that space behind my ribs

But you never told me

And I never knew

And now you're gone

And that emptiness in place of my insides Has finally taught me to understand Why they call it

A chest cavity

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

Words Caught in Razor Wire.

It's been over a year Since I last spoke to you

Over twelve months Must be going on fourteen Closer to fifteen Isn't it?

Four hundred and twenty five days Give or take a few I'm sorry I lost count When they began to hurt too much

They told me once In a seminar That falling out of love Is called withdrawal

Because love takes up to six months To fade from your veins

So tell me why Please, God, tell me why I've done that time And done it again And done it over again by half

But when I look at your photograph The one I forgot to delete The one I couldn't bring myself to When I listen to you laugh in the video I tortured myself to keep I had to, what if I lost it? My chest still caves in?

I tore my ribs open one time Just to look inside And see what hurt so much at the memory of you I found only your name Coiled up tight between my bones And wrapped serenely around my lungs Shining like razor wire

But I couldn't bring myself

To use the wire snips

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

A Letter as Open as my Ribs

My heart reaches out silently Stretching across the miles in a quiet plea

Not hoping to be answered But hoping

For what I don't know But I dream of it

Dream of that strange feeling That fills me like light in an empty room That crests high like waves And stings my throat like tears

It's always been this way I've always been burning in silence Burning brighter than a star Hoping my warmth will reach you I don't know who you are

I am incandescent with it

It's an amorphous thing Shapeless and indistinct And the pale blue of the morning sky It drifts like fog Pouring from me

They say love can heal But in me it only bleeds It bleeds and bleeds As if from a wound I can't cauterise As if I am a hemophiliac

My ribs Cracked open long ago Spread wide like sunflowers To make room for this feeling For that vast, empty thing That presses so painfully against my lungs

It pierced my fragile heart long ago And from it came a river It pours out endlessly I am overflowing with it

I wish to God I was not

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

Open Letters from this Broken Home

So, I've finally picked up writing in like...a way I feel comfortable sharing again, and right now that's therapeutic poetry. What If is still a WIP, but that is also a therapy piece and as such can't really be rushed. So for now, I will instead be uploading my recent poetry that more encapsulates feeling that action. As you see above, the title suggests that they are open letters. Each poem is a separate letter, and not all of them have titles and not all of them have recipients (or rather targets). Is it good poetry? Idk, but it's goin up anyways. 🤙🏼🤙🏼🤙🏼

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

What If?

Chapter 5: Dinner and Damages

Warning! This story is about suicide, and deals heavily and graphically with themes of abuse and self harm! Please read with caution!!!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

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When I opened the door, something was wrong. Something was missing, something critical….I didn't smell alcohol. I smelled food. Steak. Fear flooded my veins with an icy chill, and I could feel a solid knot of terror clog my throat with a taste like bitter pennies. No. I heard my breathing stop as I froze before my heart kicked into high gear, and I swiftly backed out of the doorway with every intent of sleeping in the park. A voice stopped me, calling out from the kitchen jovially.

“Is that you, hon? Come on in, I'm making dinner.”

“Yes, sir.”

I obeyed hesitantly, still half tempted to make a run for it. Still on high alert, I slipped my shoes off and laid them neatly by the door. My backpack went beside my shoes, and I crept into the living room quietly. I could see the table was set through the doorway, plates and silverware neatly placed across from each other at the square table. My stomach dropped at the sight, my mouth going dry. I hated the sight of those plates….no, I didn't hate them. I feared them. The sight of the simple tan crockery edged in modest gold paint inspired terror in me. The plates were heavier than they looked, and my shoulder throbbed at the memory of the weight.

“Ah, there you are, kiddo. I was starting to think you left before eating.”

He emerged from the kitchen, a wide smile on his face and a towel over his shoulder as he brought the sizzling skillet out with him.

“Hey, can you grab the sides really quick? I'm going to plate these steaks.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

I hastily slid past him to the kitchen, spying the bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans. I grabbed them and turned to make my way back to the dining room, jumping when he was behind me. He smiled again, eyes crinkling at the corners as he set a hand on my arm to steady me.

“Woah there, kiddo! Almost dropped the fixings!”

I ducked my head, avoiding his eyes as if I could simply disappear if I didn't see him.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Hey now, no reason for that! Go on and sit down, I'll grab the rest.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem, kid. I got it.”

I sidestepped him to set the bowls on the table, taking my place. He emerged a moment later with the smaller bowls of gravy and butter. He grinned again as he pushed the food towards me, and my chest ached. I missed when that smile was a good thing, when I could smile and laugh with him. Before the army, before her. When my skin was free of scars. When my body was my own. I smiled tentatively as I scooped the food onto my plate, extending the bowls back to him. When our plates were filled, he held out his hands to me. Swallowing hard, I slid my hands into his for grace. Strong hands, callused from years of work and war, warm and dry. I missed when these hands would brush my hair from my forehead or check for a temperature. Dutifully, I bowed my head.

“Bless us, oh lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen.”

I released his hands quickly, pulling my own away as if they had been scalded. I wasn't really hungry, my stomach twisted too tightly into knots, but I dug in with apparent gusto. The food tasted like ash and copper in my mouth.

"Woah there kiddo! I know you're hungry and all, but slow down!"

I looked up like a deer caught in headlights, catching sight of his warm smile. The smile that used to be my favourite. The smile that said he loved me, that I was safe. The one that lifted his cheeks to turn his eyes into happy little squints and crinkles, that made the blue, so clear today, sparkle like little chips of the summer sky or a clear mountain lake instead of a hospital wall. I swallowed my suddenly dry bite of food, looking back towards the table abruptly.

"Hey, why are you hiding? C'mon, little firefly, let me see that smile of yours."

Firefly, the name he used to call me when I was little. Back when we used to spend the summer nights around a little fire, toasting marshmallows. Back when we went camping in the woods. Back when I used to catch the glowing beetles with unbridled excitement, convinced I'd captured a fallen star or a fairy. Every time, I'd bring my catch back to him, all too proud to display my prowess, and his eyes would crinkle up in that smile, and he'd praise me endlessly on how good a hunter I was, how clever I was to have caught a fairy, how tall I had gotten to reach up and grab the stars. I fought the tears, raising my head tentatively to give him a smile. His eyes softened.

"There you are. I missed you."

The pain became too much, and I looked away again to eat what remained on my plate. I finished as quickly as I could, trying to block out the pleased little hums he made.

"It's good to see you eating. You're too thin, firefly."

I glanced up to offer a thin, nervous smile as I stood with my empty plate, moving to take it to the kitchen to clean it. I was shaking, feeling frozen and numb with nerves, and my foot caught on the leg of one of the extra chairs. I stumbled, the heavy terracotta slipping from my grasp as I reached to steady myself in the table. I froze as the plate clattered to the ground, and the silence rang loud with expectation in it's wake. I didn't look up from the floor, too frightened to move, to see what I had done. A heavy sigh broke the air, and panic rose in my chest.

“And we were having such a nice dinner. Pick it up.”

“Yes sir.”

My reply came through stiff lips, and I bent hastily to do as I was told. I scurried to the kitchen, scrubbing furiously at the plate as if I could scrub my mistake away.

"Enough. Come here."

I froze for a second, but set the dish down gingerly in the sink before turning to reenter the dining room.

"Look at me."

I looked up on reflex, staring up at him with unbridled fear. He looked so disappointed, so let down.

"On the floor, kiddo. You know how this goes."

I nodded and turned around, kneeling on the hard wooden floor. My hoodie came away first, nearly folded and laid down in front of me. The shirt was next, placed atop the sweatshirt with care. I kept my arms close, hands in the floor between my knees as I tried to hide my shame.The smooth slide of leather against belt loops sent a frigid finger down my spine, and shivers began to wrack me as I turned my back and knelt.

“Do you see why I have to do this to you? I don't want to hurt you, kid, I really don't, but you make this so hard for me. Do you understand?”

I swallowed hard, staring with wide eyes at floor.

“Y- yes, sir.”

“Good. This is what's best for you."

I heard the leather scrape over his calluses, the buckle jingling softly.

"Count them out, firefly."

His voice was still soft, almost gentle, filled with genuine disappointment. Despite myself, despite what I knew, what I had endured, I felt tears prickle at my eyes. I had disappointed him, had ruined the first good day in months. What if I hadn't? What if I had behaved, hadn't fucked up? He might have stayed sobre, might have made it days before his next relapse....he might have gotten better, and I'd ruined it. I'd screwed it up again, wasted another precious chance to bring him back. I bowed my head, accepting what was to come. Somewhere between my stomach and my chest, something like gratitude bubbled. I did deserve this, these lashes to come, and it brought something like relief that I would receive my just punishment from a hand not my own. These times, these days, I deserved it for failing him.

The belt whistled.

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

What If?

Chapter 4: Breaking Ties

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

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I scrubbed my hand over my face with a sigh, tired to my bones.

“God, I just wish I were dead sometimes.”

She whirled to face me, fire in her eyes as she snapped at me.

“Then why don't you just kill yourself already?”

I blinked, taken aback.

“...what?”

She stomped closer, staring me down.

“Why don't you just kill yourself already? You keep complaining and saying you're going to do it and then you never do, and I have to listen to you whine about it. Either shut the fuck up or fucking do it already!”

I was stunned, utterly taken aback. It was like a slap to the face, a low ringing in my ears drowning everything out for a white moment. I couldn't even feel through the shock blanketing my system, just an odd, tingling, painful, overwhelming numbness.

“I-”

My voice failed me, something hard and painful in my throat closing up my airway. I tried again, still grasping blindly for understanding.

“I-!”

She scoffed as my hands came up to grasp at her weakly, stepping easily out of my reach.

“You know, I can't understand how I wasted so much time on you. Everybody else is right. You really are worthless.”

I couldn't help the strangled gasp that left me, heat welling in my eyes as my world came crashing down in one big, painful pile. I could faintly see she was walking away, but everything was blurry and indistinct behind the veil of tears. I couldn't think, couldn't see, couldn't breathe-!

Whump!

I was on the ground before I knew it, something jagged in my chest crawling up around the ball in my throat like it was trying to tear me apart. It must have been a dragon inside me, all sharp and spiky and burning hot, spitting fire into my blood and tearing at me with serrated claws. For all I knew, it might have been. Nothing made sense anymore. I had come unmoored, and the only thing that felt real was the spiny creature desperately trying to claw its way free of my skin. The fog had swept in, and I was lost.

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

What If?

Chapter 3: In Silence We Pray

Warning! This story is about suicide, and deals heavily and graphically with themes of abuse and self harm! Please read with caution!!!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

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I stared back at myself in the mirror, the same reflection staring back from the other side as always. Sunken, bloodshot eyes with dark circles beneath messy hair cut badly, too pale skin yellow beneath the lights, hollow cheeks and an even hollower gaze, scars faintly visible beneath the harsh fluorescents. I hated my reflection. I hated everything about it. I hated what I saw, I hated what it was, I hated that I could never run from it, could never run from what he had done to me. I couldn't control it, not anymore. It mocked me. The familiar hatred roiled in my gut like acid, bubbling higher and higher until I wanted to break the mirror, wanted to smash it and watch it fall in a million glittering shards….but I couldn't. Not again. Not after what had happened last time. My back still bore the testaments of what happened when I broke things. Breaking mirrors really was bad luck. Growling my frustration, I settled for what I could do, and grabbed the razor. A modified shaving razor, the guards cut away to expose the blades. It was familiar as I settled it against the belly of my arm, cold enough to counteract my burning. I hissed as I drew it across my skin, a different kind of heat tracing it's path as scarlet bloomed against my skin, dark and sickly in the light. I relished it, the pain, because it was mine. My pain, my scars, my choice, my terms. Mine, and mine alone. This he couldn't touch, this he couldn't control. And that made it worth the pain, worth the scars, worth the choice. A sigh left my lungs, the acrid fever leaving with it as a blessed calm took it's place. Nothing lived in the silence after the cut, nothing bore down on me with heavy hands. It was….exquisite. Serene, even. I wished I could live forever after the cut, stay infinitely in the peace bought and paid for in blood. This was my version of heaven. It was quiet, it was cold, it was still, the itching in my limbs flown through my veins and out through my sundered flesh. When I breathed in again, I could still feel the hard lump of anger and hurt in my chest, pushing against my lungs. Another cut, and it shrank, the razor slicing away some of the pain and tracing it across my skin instead. Once more, and it was halved, running in rivulets down my arm and into the basin like poison leaving my system. Again. It receded, pulling away like a wave from the shore. Again. The feeling diminished, a rock in my chest instead of a boulder. Just one more time. It vanished, sinking deep into the calm lake I had become in the wake of my draining. It had been a flood, too much, to fast, too hard. Now it was a reservoir, clear and settled, not a ripple to mar it's surface. I leaned against the sink, weak in my own wake as I sighed again, staring at the liquid seeping from my skin. Six neat slashes, all in a row, spread slightly like gills along my forearm. Raised ridges of flesh gave testament to my ritual, sang the silent gospel of my religion. I had abandoned God long ago, but a new god had taken His place. Silence was the heaven I sought now, Relief my god, my razor my priest, my blood my offering, this bathroom my church. This was my worship, and my reward was well worth the price.

Every.

Last.

Drop.

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

What If?

Chapter 2: The Fuse Is Lit

Warning! This story is about suicide, and deals heavily and graphically with themes of abuse and self harm! Please read with caution!!!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

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3 Weeks Before The End

“I'll fucking kill myself, I swear to god!”

I could taste iron and fear in the back of my throat, harsh and bitter as I stared back at him. His face reddened to the familiar shade of fury, hand flying with a roar to collide with my cheek. I didn't even flinch anymore, used to the sting. Used to the blow. Used to the numbing pain radiating across my skin like a patch of ice.

“You'll shut your fucking mouth is what you'll do, you fucking piece of shit!”

“Fucking make me!”

I regretted the words the instant they came out of my mouth, heated anger chilling to icy fear in a second. Meaty fingers threaded in my hair, yanking my head back at a painful angle to meet his watery blue eyes. This close, I could see the veins in the yellowed sclera, I could smell the alcohol on his breath when it fanned my face. My stomach turned, rolling over beneath my skin at the scent of it. I almost vomited outright when I automatically put my own hands to my hair and brushed against his skin, bile burning at my throat.

“You'll do what I say,”

Slam! My head met the wall, and I felt my eyes well with tears at the sharp pain.

“, when I say,”

Slam! Another impact, and I felt the skin of my forehead split.

“, without asking questions!”

Slam!

“Am-!”

Slam!

“I-!”

Slam!

“Clear?!”

Slam! I could barely comprehend what he was saying anymore, too encompassed in the smell of filth and iron and fear. Too drenched in heated crimson. Too much, too bright, too hot! But still I nodded, sending a fresh wave of sharp sensation through my head. Anything to dig myself out of the all too familiar hole I had fallen into. The hand left my scalp, snapped strands following behind. I leaned back against the wall, everything too bright and blurry. I heard him spit, warmth colliding with my clear cheek.

“That’s what I thought, bitch.”

He pushed me once more, shoving me into the wall.

“Clean yourself up, you look even more pathetic than usual.”

I blinked hard, desperately trying to keep the blood out of my eyes as I swayed away from the wall.

“Yes, sir.”

There it was, the forced answer, the rote repetition, the most hated words in my vocabulary. Yes, sir. The two syllables signifying my defeat, the sound of my surrender. Yes, sir. Two stones heavy on my tongue, mountains crushing my lungs, coals in my throat. I swallowed them down like swords, ignoring the way they sliced my esophagus as I began to walk. I couldn't help the stumble in my step as I moved towards the stairs, and he sighed aggravatedly.

“See, this is why I have to be this way. You can't even walk right.”

Maybe if you hadn't bashed my head into wall so many times I'd be able to walk straight. My thoughts were bitter, but I bowed to tradition, to his version of the truth. That was the only way to survive.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you-! The words tasted like ash in my mouth, like poison, like defeat and despair. Still I swallowed them down, like acid between my teeth. He scoffed and waved his hand, already eyeing the open bottle of booze on the table.

“Yeah, yeah. Go on.”

I turned around and did as I was told.

Just like yesterday.

Just like the day before.

Just like every. Single. Day.

I did as I was told.

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

What If?

Chapter 1: The End

Warning! This story is about suicide, and deals heavily and graphically with themes of abuse and self harm! Please read with caution!!!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

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Freak

Nerd

Suck up

Ass kiss

Teacher's pet

Prude

Useless

Coward

Ugly

Fat

Worthless

There it was, the ever present word that stood out from the rest.

Worthless

The one that defined me. Nobody cared about what else I was because I was-

Worthless

It crowded out the sound of the running water from the sink, echoing louder and louder and layering like a symphony of damnation-

‘Why don't you just kill yourself already?’

‘Just kill yourself already’

‘Kill yourself.’

It was all I could hear, the voices drowning out every other noise. I could feel my chest aching, but I didn't hear the hiccuping sobs that probably echoed off the tile. I curled in tighter on myself, the porcelain too cold against my skin.

“Kill yourself.”

I screamed, my fist shoved into my mouth and my teeth clamped down tightly enough to draw blood. I could taste it, hot and salty on my tear-thickened tongue. They were right. I should do it. I was worthless, so what difference would it make?

“KILL YOURSELF.”

I was so tired of refusing it, so I stopped. I gave in. This was it. I blindly fumbled around for the razor, that one, my fingers meeting it with a sharp sting as the blade sank into the pads. It was an odd sensation that overtook me, like relief mingling with the mounting fear. Relief I had made my decision. Relief I had given in. Relief I wouldn't have to fight anymore….and fear. I was terrified as I stared blurrily at the silvery edge, the fear roiling, twisting, and doubling in on itself in my gut. My hands were shaking, I could feel that. They were cold, freezing except for where a premature stain coloured my fingertips. Those were warm. It was hard to swallow past the lead ingot settled somewhere between my heart and my throat, and I panted harshly past it as I set the thin edge to my wrist. ‘Sideways for attention, longways for results, right?’ A twisted smile found itself on my face, and I gritted my teeth as I battled the suffocating fear. ‘Just do it, fight through it one last time. Come on!’ I felt as if I couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't act-but I pushed past it in a single, jerky slice. I gasped, startled at the momentary numbness in my arm as I stared at the deep, deceptively slim and neat tear in my flesh. It took a second for the pain to set in, a searing sensation like a line of heated iron on my skin. I doubled in on myself, pressing the torn appendage into my stomach like it would stop the pain. But it didn't. The fire raged, heat bleeding onto my shirt as if to burn away the frigid feeling of the tile. I didn't know if I screamed, the blood rushing in my ears too loudly for me to know as the pain closed in. Everything all narrowed down to the line of mortality that poured the life from my veins, nothing else mattering in that moment as I bled out. I writhed, a feverish energy seizing my limbs as sweat covered my skin. Time didn't matter as crimson pooled against the porcelain, only the gradual fading of the burning to mark the time I had left. It changed to a freezing numbness, not unlike what happened when I would hold an ice cube. The sensation crept up from my fingers and toes like a thief, stealing away the life in my limbs to quell the flames. I felt weak as I began to hear a pounding on the door, like I couldn't move a single finger anymore. My body felt heavy, as if it was weighed down by bricks of lead to the bottom of a lake. The white paint on the door splintered, breaking apart with almost fascinating ease into jagged shards to expose the orangey-yellow wood beneath. The entire structure gave way a moment later, revealing an all too familiar face reddened with rage and exertion. It drew closer, words floating to my ears as if from a million miles away.

“Dammit, how could you?! How could you do this?”

It felt foreign and oh-so-exhausting, but my rubbery lips turned upwards in a faint grin as I struggled to breathe.

“I told….you...I’d...do it.”

A little laugh escaped my body, more akin to a faint, wheezing exhale as the ice seemed to encase my lungs.

“Asshole.”

His face reddened even more, but I couldn't hear him anymore. It was too late for that. I was beyond his reach now. I was gone.

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

The Mind is the Seat of God

Chapter 2: Tulio

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Tulio loved the moon. His mamon had always said that the moon was their lookout on nights like tonight, nights when papa lifted his mamon up to a window sill so she could open their way. Nights when they wore only black, when they crept silently through the homes of the too wealthy and nimbly stole their wealth away. Nights when jewels glittered darkly beneath the pale light, when even the bright and gaudy flash of gold was quieted to the cool glimmer of silver. Nights like these were his favourite. It always meant breakfast when he woke, another book or lesson to fill his head, and food to fill his belly. It meant that his mother would sing in French, her native language, as she pinned her golden curls up with pearls or taught him to dance the way her papa had taught her. These nights were quiet, only whispers and subtle tilts of the head instead of the loud bustle of Spain in the day. He had trained for these nights beneath the watchful moon since he could walk, and now, at twelve, he was a master of them. Yes, Tulio loved the moon and all that it brought. But tonight, the moon’s eye must have turned the other way. Footsteps were the first indication, heavy echoes of booted feet marching in time. One or two pairs of soft slippered feet wouldn't be odd, but many pairs of military boots was a sound that sent ice shivering through his veins. The clank of armour came next, clattering and clanging like noon bells on Sunday. Then came the voices, harsh orders barked quietly in Spanish, so discordant to his ears so accustomed to French and whispers. They were on them, bright orange flames dashing away the calming darkness. Swords were brandished, the harsh sound of metal sliding free grating on his ears and freezing his heart in his chest. There was fear in his mother’s blue eyes, and he looked to his father for reassurance. His father, who was never afraid, even when armoured boots clattered past their hiding place in the night. But there wasn't fear in those dark eyes. There was panic, and there was terror. In that moment, it was like Tulio’s world unhitched. His rock, the solid, unfearing man who had taught him how to shave the beginnings of his own dark beard just as easily as he had taught him to slip a quiet knife between armoured plates to silence a lone guard, had come unmoored from the sea floor. Nothing seemed real in that long, long minute, only three pairs of eyes all staring in horror at each other. Tulio’s father broke it first, his French softened Spanish hoarse and hard as it broke the silence.

“I will hold them off. The both of you, go!”

He shoved them, not bothering to tell them where to rendezvous. They knew he was going to die, and it opened a pit in the bottom of his stomach as his mother's slim hand closed around his own. Time seemed off, long moments of seemingly frozen time burning themselves into his memory before seeming to stumble forwards at a sprint he couldn't remember. Dark, frightened eyes seeming to well with tears slower than the honey Tulio loved on pancakes, and a pale hand dragging him too fast for him to keep up as walls passed in blurs. The sight of his mother's pale hair almost floating through the air as if underwater, and hurried words in French that vaguely sounded like a rushed prayer. The words all tumbled over and under and around themselves like water, a gushing cascade of hope and despair beseeching an unfeeling power for an impossibility. Tulio hated religion. He hated how it looked down at them, how it ringed his mother’s wrist in beads that clattered like dried bones, how it fell from her lips like holy oil when times grew hard. Instead, he loved the moon. But the moon did not love him. It watched unblinking from the sky as he fled with his mother, heavy boots echoing in his ears like his mother’s frightened breaths. Her blue eyes searched frantically, darting about like hummingbirds for an escape every time another street cropped up. But there was no escape, no mercy from the city of Spain as their path led to a solid wall.

“Oh, mon dieu! Tulio!”

Her voice wavered at her exclamation, and she swiftly knelt to look him in the eyes. Her bottom lip was quavering, but she did not cry as she held his shoulders tight. He could feel her nails dig into the flesh through his shirt, the pain sharpening his memory. Time seemed to slow again as he looked at her, cobalt eyes soaking in every detail in that second. She was limned in silver to his eyes, porcelain skin so smooth and pale beneath the halo of blonde hair, whitened in the moonlight. Each strand seemed so clear to him, a pure wire of starlight glimmering beneath the moon. Her eyes were almost the same colour of the sky above them, the tears she refused to shed reflecting the stars like glass until her eyes were the night.

“Tulio, listen to me. You have to climb that wall, and you have to run. You run, Tulio, and you don't look back. No matter what you hear, no matter what you know, no matter what you think, you don't turn back. Do. Not. Turn. Back.”

She swallowed hard, pulling close to embrace him tightly. She smelled like night blooming Cereus and roses, the sweet scent enveloping him and clinging to his skin like a second embrace.

“Me nous oublie jamais, mon cher fils. Je t'aime.”

He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, and tears welled in his eyes from the numb spot in his chest as he wrapped thin arms around her.

“Je t’aime, mamon.”

He took a deep breath, holding in the smell of her for what seemed forever. She pulled away too fast, her jaw tightening as she settled a heavy locket around his neck.

“Adieu, Tulio.”

He swallowed hard, heart kick starting in his chest at the sound of the guards growing closer.

“Adieu, mamon.”

He felt like he was dying inside, but he turned and ran full tilt at the the wall. His soft shoes were quiet against the ground as he grew closer and closer, gangly legs covering ground like a colt. When he was close enough, he leapt as high as he could, feet leaving the ground in the familiar sensation of flying. He seemed to soar for a minute, the air parting smoothly around him. He made impact with the wall hard, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and braced his feet as he wedged his fingers into the spaces between bricks and stones. It was just like they had practiced, his father’s strong arms lifting him up and his mother waiting at the top. He scaled the rest of the wall, scrambling higher as his mother readied the knife hidden in her sleeve. She stood firm, unwavering as her son easily slipped over the top of the wall. He didn't drop down though, he couldn't move as he peered over the dusty stones to see the garish flames paint his mother in gold as the guards closed in.

“Where is he, thief? Where is the boy?”

She didn't answer, and the captain of the squad curled his lip in disgust.

“No matter. The answer will be pulled from you, whether you like it or not. Cuff her.”

His mother said nothing, allowing the guards to draw closer. They were wary as they circled her, but not wary enough. The knife slid from her sleeve in a flash of gold, swiftly embedding itself in the throat of the guard behind her. He fell with a gurgle, the man to her left already falling as his blood spurted from beneath his chin. The man on her right got his sword halfway from it's scabbard before he fell as well, their blood so dark beneath the moon and the leaping flames. The man just before her had drawn his blade already, but he stood no chance as she slipped beneath his guard to slit his throat. She pulled his dagger from his belt as he fell, hurling it swiftly to it's new sheathe in the eye of a man advancing in her. Five men down, but too many pouring into the alley still. They surrounded her, ready now with their longer swords to keep her at bay. She was hemmed in, blue eyes watchful as the captain stepped forward. His sword still rested in it's scabbard, confident she had no options left.

“Surrender now.”

She snarled, leaping forward to bury her long dagger into the space between his cuirass and backplate. The gathered guards leapt forward at the same time with their long blades, but it was too late. The knife slid home between his ribs, and his eyes widened as he looked down at her in surprise. Blood bubbled from his lips, even as her slim body became drenched in her own dark scarlet from the numerous blades that now held her up. She drew closer to his ear, her Spanish sharp and clear.

“Never.”

The captain fell with a clatter of armour, and his mother looked over her shoulder to where she could see his wide blue eyes. She smiled faintly, body beginning to sway as blood stained her lips. They formed a silent word, her slim hand raising weakly in farewell.

“Adieu.”

He mouthed back at her as her eyes began to darken.

“Adieu.”

Her breath failed her with one last sigh, and her head lolled back lifelessly as her body was still held up by the weapons of it's demise. Her eyes reflected the moon like glass, a broken shell of a woman, of a mother. Of his mother. He held back his sobs as he dropped silently from the wall, plummeting like a stone. He didn’t look back when he ran away, the locket bouncing against his chest like a second heartbeat.

[the-hound-and-the-raven]

Since I put it on the wrong blog 🤷🏻‍♀️

The Mind is the Seat of God.

Chapter 1: The Beginning

The sun shone brightly on the golden city as they stared out at it, contented. It had been thirty years since they had taken the boat and tried to leave, thirty years since they had truly ascended to the sky. Tulio could still remember it, his mind clear from the bounds of age.

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It had been three days out from the coast of the continent when it had happened, the strange time between day and night washing the little boat and all it's scavenged treasures in it's soft plum light. The sun and moon had both stared down like great eyes on them, seeming to rise again into the sky until they met in the middle to shine brightly like a heavenly spotlight on the boat. Tulio had been awake when it had happened, preferring the cool silver light on the ocean over the bright sparkle of sunshine Miguel loved so much. When he saw the sun and moon stop in the sky together, he thought he had been hallucinating. When he shook Miguel awake, however, the blond’s green eyes had widened at the sight. When the boat had begun to rise from the waters, they had looked to each other with wide eyes, only to blink as they saw that they were glowing. Miguel seemed almost aflame, his blond hair lifting in a sort of fiery halo around his head as his green eyes blazed with gold. Tulio’s hair had broken free of it's ponytail, allowing the inky locks to gently wave around his shoulders as he was bathed in silver. Chel woke at their shocked sounds, staring flatly at them for a second before falling to her knees and beginning to pray in the language they still didn't quite know. The boat drifted ever higher in the sky until it disappeared in a flash of brilliant white light, and suddenly, they were somewhere else. They were greeted there by thirteen lords, and two men with an extraordinary resemblance to one another. The lords were silent, but the men, twins, stepped forward to stand before them. The taller of the two, adorned in purples and blues, pulled a sapphire earring from his left ear. He pressed it through Tulio’s ear instead, no feeling registering in his mind besides a cool wash of water over his skin from the area where the earring now resided. The man smiled, disappearing in a ripple of silver water to stream into the sapphire. The shorter man dressed in flaming yellow and red did something similar to Miguel, placing a ruby in his right ear before burning up like a phoenix to join the glimmering stone. The lords bowed to them, and they began to fall. The air rushed past, whipping their hair as they left trails of gold and silver in their wake like comets. The sun and moon split in the sky with a sound like thunder, the heavens above split cleanly into the bright daylight and the dark night. The boat crested the split above them, Chel’s terrified face visible near the figurehead as it tumbled over the edge of Xibalba like it was a waterfall. When Tulio turned his head, he could see El Dorado beneath him growing ever closer as faces turned upwards in awe. He dimly thought that he would hurt them if he fell much further, and he had the absent idea to outstretched his fingers. They stopped in the air, just floating above the temple as the boat levelled off. Another wave of his thin hand, and the boat sailed over the air to settle gently on the soil. Miguel looked over at him, eyes still blazing, and tilted his head. Tulio nodded, lowering his hand. They floated downwards like feathers until their feet made contact with the golden platform of the temple, still warm from the day’s sun. Miguel looked up absently, his tanned hand arcing over his head to leave ribbons of light behind his fingers. The sun above followed the movement of his fingers, gently settling below the horizon again.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tulio smiled to himself, tilting his head back to look up at the warm sky above. Thirty years they had stayed here, content. Thirty years since they had accepted their new names, since Tulio had become Hunahpu and Miguel had become Xbalanque. Thirty years of friendship blossoming into comfortable brotherhood. Thirty years of the sun and moon rising and setting when they pleased, the summer days long to grow crops and the winter days short in payment. Thirty years, and they had not aged a day. Tulio’s hair had become silvered, but not with age. His body did not weaken, his skin did not wrinkle, his eyes did not dim. Time could not touch them. Life stretched out before him, endless and content.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tulio sighed as he stared out from the balcony of his penthouse at the dismal grey sky of London, a drink held loosely in one hand and the other resting on the railing. His hair tossed in the wind, no more silvered than it had been in 1519 when the glimmering strands had first appeared. Blue eyes shot through with moonlight stared flatly out at the city, gazing out with undimmed clarity from his smooth and unlined face. He was weary, not his body, no, that was still strong and lithe. He was weary in his soul, weary of these hundreds of lonely years. El Dorado had been left empty now for almost four hundred years, illness having decimated the people until the few alive had begged Miguel and Tulio to keep El Dorado safe. Blue eyes closed, the memory of it still clear in his infallible and ageless mind.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Miguel was crying, golden tears rolling over his tanned skin to stain his beard. Chief Tannabok lay in his bed, the great chest rising and falling laboriously, each breath rattling ominously. His lips were blue, eyelids darkened and crusted and his wide lips stained with blood. His great hand reached for them feebly, and they both clasped it tightly. The callused palm was large enough that both of them couldn't enclose it, but they held it tightly nonetheless. His mouth worked, and they leaned closer to hear him.

“Protect the city.”

Miguel nodded, brows furrowed.

“Of course. We-”

Tannabok shook his head vehemently, struggling to pull them closer.

“No. Don't let them take it apart.”

Tulio realised what he was saying, and his own blue eyes welled with metallic tears to spill over his pale skin like mercury. He was saying that he knew they couldn't save them, that every last man, woman, and child who was so desperately clinging to life was going to die. He cleared his throat, his other hand wiping at the mercurial liquid staining his skin as he nodded.

“You got it, chief. We won't let anybody come and tear it down.”

He squeezed the large palm reassuringly.

“It means too much to us to let that happen. I promise we’ll keep it safe.”

Tannabok smiled as best he could, his grip slackening on their hands as those warm chocolate eyes grew dimmer.

“Good. See you in Xibalba, my friends.”

Tulio swallowed hard, his voice broken.

“See you in Xibalba”

Tannabok sighed, and the vast chest did not rise again with breath. The great heart lay still within it, and gold stained fingers reached to close those misty brown eyes.

“See you in Xibalba, my friend.”

Tulip closed his eyes, mouthing a familiar word.

“Adieu.”

It took three days after that. Just three days for each and every citizen of the great city to fall silent, to breathe no more in that life. Tulio and Miguel watched the city from above as they had for years, but now there was no peace in their eyes. No, there was only a sadness as vast as the ocean and as ever present as the shore when they outstretched their hands. The city disappeared before their eyes, nature itself rising around it like a mother enfolding her child to keep it safe for the rest of time,