He doesn't know how long he's been gone, or even where he is, just that when he comes to that there's a sudden feeling of a lot of time missing between what he last remembered clearly to whatever lead him to this moment. It's a slow progression, but eventually the pieces filter back in like a blinding force behind his eyes that he can't escape.
Things he'd said. Things he'd done. People he'd hurt.
He made his mother cry. He made his sister beg. There was blood stained so deep on his hands it would never come out now.
Except none of it had been him. Not really. He was little more than a vessel for the thing that had done those things. His body only a means to an end, his hands the tools necessary to create the chaos.
It could have been anyone-- it just happened to be him.
The circumstances don't change anything, though. He's still the one wrecked with a guilt so terrible, he thought he might be crushed under the weight of it. He's not sure he'll ever be able to get past this. How could anyone ever be okay again after having every ounce of your own agency stolen from you, becoming a puppet in your own skin.
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branchandroot
070. Heavy
Date: 2018-08-16 03:05 am (UTC)Things he'd said.
Things he'd done.
People he'd hurt.
He made his mother cry.
He made his sister beg.
There was blood stained so deep on his hands it would never come out now.
Except none of it had been him. Not really. He was little more than a vessel for the thing that had done those things. His body only a means to an end, his hands the tools necessary to create the chaos.
It could have been anyone-- it just happened to be him.
The circumstances don't change anything, though. He's still the one wrecked with a guilt so terrible, he thought he might be crushed under the weight of it. He's not sure he'll ever be able to get past this. How could anyone ever be okay again after having every ounce of your own agency stolen from you, becoming a puppet in your own skin.