Having been sitting in the ledge of a particular Castle Apartment’s window for the past many hours, Syrius battled the elements, sleep and his fears. For the first time in a long time, he had decided to get drunk, very drunk, to just deal with his internal demons. About his previous life and what he had been forced to do to so many people before, about his life now, and what his life was going to be. curled up on the harsh concrete of the small ledge, Syrius kept switching between a hazy awakeness and partial sleep as he thought and dreamt to himself in equal measure.
Most people would be more then freaked by the fact that they were hundreds of feet in the sky, with barely more than a foot or two of space between oneself and the ledge. Not Syrius, and especially not with him dealing with his hangover and the last bit of his drinking binge. Why had he done it...? Looking into the window, Syrius saw his reflection. He was pathetic... He could barely deal with his own problems, let alone help the world’s problems like he had always wanted to do.
Sighing as he curled up even tighter, he wondered how there was no wind this high up in the sky. It was so still, so... dead. Opening his eyes again to look into the window, Syrius’ eyes widened to the size of plates as he saw Justin. Yelling out in surprise at the reflection of his blood-covered partner staring right at him with those haunted eyes, Syrius fell back and yelled out again as he began falling... Only to catch the ledge with his arm. Barely catching himself by his fingertips, Syrius dragged himself up over the ledge and grunted loudly in pain. Was his shoulder dislocated? No, just his fingers were bleeding from his nails...
Shaking his head wildly, Syrius looked at the window again to see that the reflection of Justin wasn’t there anymore... but there was something. Fearful to see what it might be, Syrius got closer. What it turned out to be though was a man standing there, arms outstretched and a “what the fuck are you doing?!?” look on his face as he yelled through the glass at Syrius. Shaking his head, Syrius just waved his bleeding hand at the man in a supplicating wave and crawled back to where he was sleeping. He didn't even bother to see who the man was, fearful that he would think the occupant of room 1965 was his long lost partner. His lost partner, at his own hands... Sighing, Syrius fell back into a dull doze again, ignoring the world for his own self-pity and misery. Who gave a fuck what happened to the world when nobody cared about each other?
No comments:
Post a Comment