So this is what going mad feels like.
It's not like he'd thought it would be. It's not like the ghosts. It's worse than the ghosts. In a sense, his withdrawal from the rest of the world during that last hellish month or so had protected him from the full force of it. He'd been cushioned by his own wobbling sanity.
Now he's sane. Stabbingly, horribly, inescapably sane. And it's driving him crazy.
The snow should leave tracks and it does, but with people moving around the Island in the patterns they do it's next to useless. He follows one set, gives up, follows another, and yet another. They lead him in circles. He stops and breathes steam up into the air. His gun is heavy at his hip. He's been doing this since before dawn. He can barely feel his fingers. If he finds whoever is responsible for this--much as he resents having to give them the status of a person--pulling the trigger is going to be a job in itself.
Faint sunlight is hitting the snow and casting shadows when he stops again to get his bearings. Not that it really matters what his bearings are.
His daughter. His fucking daughter.
A sound like a rough sob tears out of him and he yanks one glove off and wipes frantically at his face. Fucking hell, get it the fuck TOGETHER.
And the hell of loving other people is not enough to stop us.
It's not like he'd thought it would be. It's not like the ghosts. It's worse than the ghosts. In a sense, his withdrawal from the rest of the world during that last hellish month or so had protected him from the full force of it. He'd been cushioned by his own wobbling sanity.
Now he's sane. Stabbingly, horribly, inescapably sane. And it's driving him crazy.
The snow should leave tracks and it does, but with people moving around the Island in the patterns they do it's next to useless. He follows one set, gives up, follows another, and yet another. They lead him in circles. He stops and breathes steam up into the air. His gun is heavy at his hip. He's been doing this since before dawn. He can barely feel his fingers. If he finds whoever is responsible for this--much as he resents having to give them the status of a person--pulling the trigger is going to be a job in itself.
Faint sunlight is hitting the snow and casting shadows when he stops again to get his bearings. Not that it really matters what his bearings are.
His daughter. His fucking daughter.
A sound like a rough sob tears out of him and he yanks one glove off and wipes frantically at his face. Fucking hell, get it the fuck TOGETHER.
And the hell of loving other people is not enough to stop us.
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