And there was a great cry in Egypt

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"I can endure my own despair but not another's hope."
William Walsh

Early hours of Tuesday

I said I would not wear this body again. But in the end there was no shell better, not for this.

My booted feet make no sound as I walk through the woods. I smell him out, faint trace of blood. Once I would have felt him. Even after we broke with each other, there was a thin thread like hair caught in my throat. And now -

I find the place. She has taken his body. Her power is all over this glade, stink like a cat that has rubbed itself everywhere. She has taken his body and his blood, but in the grass there are a few places that have not been licked clean by animals. I sit down, and I press my hands into the damp grass.

"Everyone leaves you."

"I think the manner of your betrayal will be much more subtle than either of us have thought."

"I would court you for a thousand years."

"I will.إبليس. Love."

It is not enough, it is not nearly enough, and these fine boned fingers dig through the grass, dig into the soil, feel for where his blood soaked, each drop. In the town something has happened, something great, and I do not care. I shove these hands into the earth. "I've missed this shape. Its beauty, and its spite. I didn't realise that." My nails split, and there is blood. There is always blood, I told him that.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

(If I could)
(If I)
(If)

you were

I smooth the earth back, and I wipe my hands, my nails, until they are clean. My eyes are dry. I have no quality of mercy. I cannot regret. I cannot.

There is no answer when I call his name, none at all.

There should have been a sacrifice. His body was not beautiful enough for this. So I build a fire, and I burn Brant in it. There should have been a youth.

The pain is no more terrible than anything else, and when it is done I scatter the ashes.

Over the forest, day breaks.

[closed]