04-03-2018, 10:27 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]His mouth tastes of copper and it takes him a long time to remember why. It's dry on his tongue and down his throat, but he swallows through it with a gag, tongue running over the backs of his teeth. Two, four, eight, sixteen on top, bloody but intact. Seventeen, twenty-five, thirty-two. He's not sure why he's bothering with that right now, with the way that he feels jostled and nauseous and out of it. It's comforting, maybe. He feels like he could vomit, but there's nothing in his stomach. His mind searches for the last time he ate even though he can't remember what feels like days  the last thing he remembers is worlds away, trying to swallow the color on his own cheeks as he handed Doktè a folded shirt. Things come back in pieces, Tybalt's questioning meow, waving at people on the streets. The world went on turning, it felt so strange to look back on that. A headache begins to throb behind his eyes, keeping pace with the ever-increasing racing of his heart. He tries to keep his shifting subtle even though he's panicking now. Think, Theseus. You're not dead yet. You're not dead yet.
Why?
His day had started normally. It starts as a guess and then becomes an assertion, then a memory. He remembers Tybalt on his back, standing between his shoulders. Sharp claws dug in and out, voice demanding. The sun warming the back of his head was another sign that he had overslept. He remembers how warm it had felt, how quietly he'd found himself missing something that he wouldn't put words to. He remembers stretching, and just how good it had felt to move until something popped. Things had been simple from that point on, feeding the cat and pulling on the softest clothing he could find. He'd gone for a walk, thinking it best to avoid the crowds. Clear his head, everything like that. He's remembering now, things are clearing up. His settings come a little bit more into focus.
Something feels both sickeningly warm and cold on his skin. Being held has always been a comforting thing. It meant that his dad was around, and that he was safe. He'd always been too small to keep up with abysmally long legs. He would cling to his back or chest when they walked, slowly dozing off with the rocking motion and comfortable warmth. Theo was older now, so much older, and
wip bc i'm lazy
Why?
His day had started normally. It starts as a guess and then becomes an assertion, then a memory. He remembers Tybalt on his back, standing between his shoulders. Sharp claws dug in and out, voice demanding. The sun warming the back of his head was another sign that he had overslept. He remembers how warm it had felt, how quietly he'd found himself missing something that he wouldn't put words to. He remembers stretching, and just how good it had felt to move until something popped. Things had been simple from that point on, feeding the cat and pulling on the softest clothing he could find. He'd gone for a walk, thinking it best to avoid the crowds. Clear his head, everything like that. He's remembering now, things are clearing up. His settings come a little bit more into focus.
Something feels both sickeningly warm and cold on his skin. Being held has always been a comforting thing. It meant that his dad was around, and that he was safe. He'd always been too small to keep up with abysmally long legs. He would cling to his back or chest when they walked, slowly dozing off with the rocking motion and comfortable warmth. Theo was older now, so much older, and
wip bc i'm lazy
[align=center]
—–— SAY IT OVER AND OVER UNTIL YOU ARE OUT OF BREATH:
[ I WILL NOT MAKE MYSELF SMALL ]
revelations#8754 ---//--- GONE, THANKS FOR HELPING ME GROW