Empty Shards

"Wash your paws, ally cat; once you’re dead you can’t come back."

_Empty Shards_

         The light from the fading sun illuminates my face for a fleeting second, blinding me momentarily. It hurts but I do not shy away. The light dislikes me; I can feel it. The way it burns me, itching underneath my skin until I've lost myself in it’s revulsion. It used to love me, bathing me in it's warmth and illuminating everything I loved; hiding my pain in the sharp dark shadows it threw for the stability of my own sanity. But it does not love me anymore.

         I can feel myself beneath my fingertips as I bleed. I scrape and stab and slice away; anything visible is fair game. It aches, but not in the way the fire’s ultimate disapproval scorches and blisters away any sense of self. It's a good kind of despondency, if only because it is self-inflicted. At least then I can be under the ignorant impression that I am the one in control.
As I rip away at my throat, clawing for my larynx and begging for myself to stop, I hear him in my head again. He wants his turn now. He has nothing left, not after what I’ve done.

         I was forced, by chance, to listen to his parting words. But they were not intended for me. He only saved me because it was his only way out of the suffocating nothing. I never cared about what happened to him, and he didn't care for me. He wanted him though. He wanted my other to hear him in his final moments. A true friend to comfort him in his fleeting existence and to whisper sweet nothings into his ear as his-nonexistent-heart bled. He wanted to have the one thing that made him real. Those few precious words that proved his existence wasn't meaningless.
         But, alas, it was I who heard him. I, who let his dying breath fall upon def ears, I who let the poor man’s life slip away without comfort, and I, who shed meaningless tears for something that never was, and that never would be. Never could be.

         He watched in silent agony, whilst the memory of Lea faded away, back into the dark nothing from which he was born. His pain itched at the back of my skull like a maggot trying to worm it’s way out of this decaying carcass.

          I could have helped him. I could have given my body to him, if only for a moment, so that he and his lover could have a taste of the reality they craved. But I refused him. I refused him and I relished in his pain, loving the sensation of pure hatred that boiled from beneath my skin. Boiled for me.

         He had never hated me before. It was always them to which he aimed his displeasures. They were, after all, the ones who put him here; who damned his existence from the beginning. But now even he, my own reflection, is gone. He, who is(was) a part of me, has turned his back to me now, just as I had done to him. I took everything he’d ever had, tossed it aside to rot in this infinite twilight.

         Now he wants it back: wants all of it back. His friends, his life, his body - His Heart. I don't want to go back to the asphyxiating emptiness of this world of nothing, but I suppose he doesn't enjoy un-existing there either. It's his turn now, and so I let the emptiness rise up and drown me in it's vacancy - or maybe it is the one that’s falling and I am the one accenting into for(n)ever?
I suppose that there is no up or down here, just darkness. Only darkness.

I don’t own kingdom hearts, or any of the characters affiliated with such. Lyrics at the top belong entirely to Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s.
- The Queen