Posted in BloodRazor

21: Him

He’s in a dark, dank pit. You’re up here with us. There are snakes slithering around by his ankles. The snakes spit venom at you, and they hurt you. They turn to him and grin, showing their long, sharp fangs. If he tries to reach up to you or even look at you, they bare their fangs, and he’s forced to ignore you. You once tried to lower a rope, but the snakes shredded it to pieces before it even reached him. Your red string of fate did not escape their fangs, but unlike the rope, the string is empowered with your memories and feelings of each other, and they cannot break it easily. But everyday they get to work, cutting it with their fangs while smoothing his legs. You can feel it in your heart. He needs you.

He’s in a majestic castle. You’re outside of the gate with us. There are princesses hustling about him, pampering him, giving him fabulous clothes, mouthwatering food, the like. The princesses order their soldiers to fire at you, to keep you away. They hide him from you within the walls of their castle. If he tries to look at you, they send tanks to try and blow you up. You don’t get hit, but your house gets damaged. You once tried to send him a gift, but they found out and tried to take it from him, but he hid it. Another time, you were planning to give him a letter, but they found out as well and one of the princesses tried to ruin it. Luckily, you salvaged it. You can feel it. He loves you.

Your friend can infiltrate the pit by wearing the snakeskin, or enter the castle by wearing a royal dress. She sends him the gifts and letters you want him to get. She tries to find a way to lower a steel ladder into the pit, one that can’t be bitten by the snakes. She tries to find a way to break down the gates and free him from his prison.

Now… another friend emerges. The suicidal type. The sacrificial type. He’d get down the pit, get bitten a hundred times so he can get out. He’d blast the gates away and take hundreds of gunshots to escape him. But he’s chained up. He can’t do it…

Not yet, at least.

 

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Author:

With my pen, the world sits in the palm of my hand.

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