She uses his name like an incantation, trying to get him to stop fighting her. Stop struggling.
Let me help you!
Now that she's closer, she can see it's no trick of the storm or the light; what she thought was blood is genuinely blue and for a second she's confused, startled, praying for one fleeting moment that it's only paint. But she knows better. It squelches between her fingers, warm and sappy, it's leaking from his shoulder and his belly, and those screams aren't no trick of anything.
(For a moment she sees him pale and motionless like a gnarled limb, grown over in bluebells.)
"I'm here."
Her eyes are burning. Suddenly, she's looking through a prism. He's not fighting no more but she's still covered in him, in blue, in warm sticky life, and he's looking at her wild-like, the way a felled stag rolls his eyes in his death throes. She reaches out again, this time for his face. She colors his dirty hair with his own soul, dragging trembling fingers through, trying to soothe, trying to comfort.
no subject
Let me help you!
Now that she's closer, she can see it's no trick of the storm or the light; what she thought was blood is genuinely blue and for a second she's confused, startled, praying for one fleeting moment that it's only paint. But she knows better. It squelches between her fingers, warm and sappy, it's leaking from his shoulder and his belly, and those screams aren't no trick of anything.
(For a moment she sees him pale and motionless like a gnarled limb, grown over in bluebells.)
"I'm here."
Her eyes are burning. Suddenly, she's looking through a prism. He's not fighting no more but she's still covered in him, in blue, in warm sticky life, and he's looking at her wild-like, the way a felled stag rolls his eyes in his death throes. She reaches out again, this time for his face. She colors his dirty hair with his own soul, dragging trembling fingers through, trying to soothe, trying to comfort.
"I'm here. I'm here."