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For Eostre
When he wakes he does it hard, snapping out of dreaming in a way that leaves no grogginess or mud in his brain. He sits up in the darkness of his hut. He has no idea what time it is. Once the sun goes down, time here doesn't mean as much. Hobbes had had a watch. He remembers the day it finally broke. The kid had kept wearing it. It was the first thing of his he had ever touched. He doesn't know why that should be significant, over everything else.
The letter is folded by his head. He has no idea what he's going to do with it. It doesn't matter right now, because the dream is coming back to him in fits and starts. Not the head on the stake, not this time. Not the scorched landscape. Worse. Hands. The heat of him too close, dangerously close. A flash of the curve of lips and the line of a neck. Firelight in eyes. Things he'd looked at before. Things he'd shoved to the back of everything, only when you push something to the back it's still there.
By the end if he had touched him he would have screamed. It would have been too much. It is too much now. If he had been unable to have her, would he be feeling this same way now? He's desperately afraid the answer is yes.
He does have her. He can... she can...
He should have done this to begin with.
He pulls his pants on quickly and steps out into the night, moving fast and silent and it seems only a few yards to her door. There's a light. He stops short of entering, blinking. There's something dark and heavy pressing against the inside of his skull.
He doesn't need the dinosaurs. There's more than one way to be consumed.
The letter is folded by his head. He has no idea what he's going to do with it. It doesn't matter right now, because the dream is coming back to him in fits and starts. Not the head on the stake, not this time. Not the scorched landscape. Worse. Hands. The heat of him too close, dangerously close. A flash of the curve of lips and the line of a neck. Firelight in eyes. Things he'd looked at before. Things he'd shoved to the back of everything, only when you push something to the back it's still there.
By the end if he had touched him he would have screamed. It would have been too much. It is too much now. If he had been unable to have her, would he be feeling this same way now? He's desperately afraid the answer is yes.
He does have her. He can... she can...
He should have done this to begin with.
He pulls his pants on quickly and steps out into the night, moving fast and silent and it seems only a few yards to her door. There's a light. He stops short of entering, blinking. There's something dark and heavy pressing against the inside of his skull.
He doesn't need the dinosaurs. There's more than one way to be consumed.