“In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood, like a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun.” -Madeline Miller, “The Song Of Achilles.”


Message to Readers

This was meant to be tender but of course I went and added in some kind of weird and wacky event. Also, can anybody help with description? I feel like I’m stuck in a loop and my descriptions always go completely waywards. Thanks!!!

Please Leave Them Be, They’ve Had Enough

June 11, 2019


He sits carefully on his knees beside me and tips my head towards him. He smooths his thumb slowly across my brow bone.

“You okay?” He murmurs, watching the movement of his own hand and I lean the side of my face into his palm like some sort of needy animal. His lip is bleeding scarlet red and I can feel the bruise forming around my eye, like some sort of stupid flower except it was given to me from a fist and I hope it never blooms.

I shook my head slightly as to not disturb the feel of his hand against my cheek and he sighs.  “None of us are,” I mumble, “and you know it.”

He hums a little bit and I imagine again it’s just so that he can block out my words. The tune is sweet, coated with some sort of untouchable grief and it’s soft blue behind my eyes. My other hand searches for the one he’s leaning on, kept close to my legs where I’m sitting on the ground. He relaxes his fingers at my touch but only a little, because god’s above, do you know how hard it is to relax when every single second of your life you’ve been doing nothing but tense up? 

And so there we are; sitting at the end of the world waiting for some kind of reprieve from the apocalypse.


See History
  • June 11, 2019 - 4:10am (Now Viewing)

Login or Signup to provide a comment.

1 Comment