Wake Me From the Dead
I Want To Give My Soul
It was pounding in his ears, causing his brain to move just the slightest bit so that the blood pumping from his heart flowed faster there, made him think he was awake when he wasn’t and made his dreams increasingly more vivid. The light of morning shone into the fronts of his eyelids, its fiery orange radiance bursting into flames as the House of Cards came crumbling down in a last and almost sighing crash. It had marked the end of nothing but his dreams.
“Shit”
Sweat had formed in droplets on his chest, sprinkling his brow and while his skin was burning hot, the liquid was strangely cold. Hatter shot up ramrod straight in the desperate attempt to shake off the reoccurring dream he often had; one that hadn’t ended a war, but begun one. It was but a moment until his heart beat at the normal rate, as the boy glanced to his right and noticed the redhead sleeping totally unaware to his fits. A slight simper came to his face then, a rush of air exiting his nose in the form of a silenced chuckle as Hatter remembered the evening before. Well, she’d better not have gotten too attached to him because the boy was not the type to stay long or keep himself out of danger long enough to warrant someone caring. He was supposed to have been up two hours ago, which meant he would have been well on his way back to the Tea Shop by now. No one would worry though; they knew Hatter too well for that. He was kind of a lone gun right now, since everyone had basically surrendered their freedoms to the ways of the Queen’s teas once more. Hatter was alone, just the way he liked it and just the way he felt in his mind.
Hatter rolled agilely off the bed and hit the floor with the grace and silence of a cat, not waking the girl, whose name he just could not seem to remember. Typical. Standing in the glowing light that penetrated the closed blinds Hatter stretched his lithe, compact frame, while casually yawning. The boy muttered something rather undeterminable under his breath in the sultry tongue of some other land as he passed the mirror and walked into a tiny alcove of the room where there had been undressing last night. A plain white shirt was pulled carelessly over his head, and the boy ran a hand quickly through his coppery hair, as though it mattered if his locks were slightly awry. His faithful hat was there, laying ruefully discarded on the floor and David picked it up, dusting it off before placing it almost lovingly on his head. He’d inherited his mother Lizzy’s dark brown eyes, the color of the sky at dusk, just before a storm, and James’ coppery brown hair, the likeness of the hills in their sun’s bright light. He had that sun kissed skin of most farmer’s sons, as he had grown up on one, and that commonly short hairstyle that keeps a boy from complaining in the heat. But because of his mother, Hatter was not an atypical child of any place, which may have explained why he never felt quite at home anywhere.
He had this need for movement, was never happy being tied down to just one place. It was an ebb and flow of Hatter’s soul to be out in the world somewhere one day and then with his mother on the farm the next. Granted, his brooding attitude added to the wistfulness of his soul, but it was something that grew increasingly hard to ignore as the boy aged. At this point David would be a disappointment to his father; that is if he cared what his father thought anymore. He had spent so much time worrying about what James Hatter had though that he had forgotten his own will for a while. And because his father had pushed his brother and he so hard as children it had hardened his emotions, giving him a tough exterior and attitude that caused Hatter to push almost everyone away. Add that to the fact that his fly boy brother Clint had been killed already and you got an idea as to why Hatter was the way he was. The boy now had a hero complex; he just didn’t let it get in the way of his attempts to get into trouble.
Oh and if you were looking for trouble, Hatter was it. His handsome face could betray him sometimes; giving away his intentions if one looked too closely. It was a flaw that he had inherited from his mother, along with a confusing view of the world and how things should be ordered. The boy had spent so long trying to figure out what he believed that he no longer understood it anymore. He counted his allegiance with the underdogs of the world, only because his brother had served them before his death, but perhaps because Hatter blamed that death on them it was hard for him to follow them closely. Besides, the lad had a problem with authority and tried his damndest to break any rule set before him. It wasn’t that Hatter was uncompassionate, he simply had hardened himself to the emotion of pity - in his mind every man made his own destiny, so there wasn’t room in his world for pity. He did not accept it from others either, which is why he hid who his father had been at any cost. Hatter didn’t need people being sorry for him because he had grown up without the most important man in his life. James Hatter was the reason that his son was so rebellious and unruly - he had been much the same in his younger years and his death had changed something in Hatter. It was like there was an irrevocable wall built before the boy that no one could tear down. He feared nothing, not even death because his mortality seemed so meaningless without reason. Hatter honestly did not have a reason to live, aside from his mother.
He had walked out now, into the main room of this girl’s apartment, which was larger than one would assume, and wondered if he should wake her before leaving. However, decided against it with the thought that she might ask him to stay for one reason or another. He might have come off insensitive, especially towards the girl, but she meant nothing to him, he’d only met her last night after all. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about anyone, he just didn’t give a damn if he were alone in the world or not. He never thought about love, nor did he think it truly existed because he could not imagine giving himself over to such a weak emotion. Clearly he had his fill of sexual pleasure, and perhaps in the way back of his mind, jammed down so far into the background that he’d almost forgotten it, was the eternal seed to have a partner of the opposite sex. Certainly, it scared Hatter, the thought that someone else could have any kind of power over him the way fools in love seemed to be.
Locking the door behind him, Hatter walked out into the misty streets, an almost quaint setting if you could forget the decay looming around every corner. It was hot already and steam rose from the pavement like ghosts, surrounding the boy in a sort of hazy fog that covered up the fact that he shouldn’t be here. Meandering a way up the street, Hatter just looked about, hoping to find someone to break the monotony of his day. Not simply a girl to get into bed with, since that was not always his first thought, just someone to distract him from his loneliness. He had the strange feeling that something was supposed to happen, but he had no idea what that was, or why he even felt that way to begin with.
“Shit”
Sweat had formed in droplets on his chest, sprinkling his brow and while his skin was burning hot, the liquid was strangely cold. Hatter shot up ramrod straight in the desperate attempt to shake off the reoccurring dream he often had; one that hadn’t ended a war, but begun one. It was but a moment until his heart beat at the normal rate, as the boy glanced to his right and noticed the redhead sleeping totally unaware to his fits. A slight simper came to his face then, a rush of air exiting his nose in the form of a silenced chuckle as Hatter remembered the evening before. Well, she’d better not have gotten too attached to him because the boy was not the type to stay long or keep himself out of danger long enough to warrant someone caring. He was supposed to have been up two hours ago, which meant he would have been well on his way back to the Tea Shop by now. No one would worry though; they knew Hatter too well for that. He was kind of a lone gun right now, since everyone had basically surrendered their freedoms to the ways of the Queen’s teas once more. Hatter was alone, just the way he liked it and just the way he felt in his mind.
Hatter rolled agilely off the bed and hit the floor with the grace and silence of a cat, not waking the girl, whose name he just could not seem to remember. Typical. Standing in the glowing light that penetrated the closed blinds Hatter stretched his lithe, compact frame, while casually yawning. The boy muttered something rather undeterminable under his breath in the sultry tongue of some other land as he passed the mirror and walked into a tiny alcove of the room where there had been undressing last night. A plain white shirt was pulled carelessly over his head, and the boy ran a hand quickly through his coppery hair, as though it mattered if his locks were slightly awry. His faithful hat was there, laying ruefully discarded on the floor and David picked it up, dusting it off before placing it almost lovingly on his head. He’d inherited his mother Lizzy’s dark brown eyes, the color of the sky at dusk, just before a storm, and James’ coppery brown hair, the likeness of the hills in their sun’s bright light. He had that sun kissed skin of most farmer’s sons, as he had grown up on one, and that commonly short hairstyle that keeps a boy from complaining in the heat. But because of his mother, Hatter was not an atypical child of any place, which may have explained why he never felt quite at home anywhere.
He had this need for movement, was never happy being tied down to just one place. It was an ebb and flow of Hatter’s soul to be out in the world somewhere one day and then with his mother on the farm the next. Granted, his brooding attitude added to the wistfulness of his soul, but it was something that grew increasingly hard to ignore as the boy aged. At this point David would be a disappointment to his father; that is if he cared what his father thought anymore. He had spent so much time worrying about what James Hatter had though that he had forgotten his own will for a while. And because his father had pushed his brother and he so hard as children it had hardened his emotions, giving him a tough exterior and attitude that caused Hatter to push almost everyone away. Add that to the fact that his fly boy brother Clint had been killed already and you got an idea as to why Hatter was the way he was. The boy now had a hero complex; he just didn’t let it get in the way of his attempts to get into trouble.
Oh and if you were looking for trouble, Hatter was it. His handsome face could betray him sometimes; giving away his intentions if one looked too closely. It was a flaw that he had inherited from his mother, along with a confusing view of the world and how things should be ordered. The boy had spent so long trying to figure out what he believed that he no longer understood it anymore. He counted his allegiance with the underdogs of the world, only because his brother had served them before his death, but perhaps because Hatter blamed that death on them it was hard for him to follow them closely. Besides, the lad had a problem with authority and tried his damndest to break any rule set before him. It wasn’t that Hatter was uncompassionate, he simply had hardened himself to the emotion of pity - in his mind every man made his own destiny, so there wasn’t room in his world for pity. He did not accept it from others either, which is why he hid who his father had been at any cost. Hatter didn’t need people being sorry for him because he had grown up without the most important man in his life. James Hatter was the reason that his son was so rebellious and unruly - he had been much the same in his younger years and his death had changed something in Hatter. It was like there was an irrevocable wall built before the boy that no one could tear down. He feared nothing, not even death because his mortality seemed so meaningless without reason. Hatter honestly did not have a reason to live, aside from his mother.
He had walked out now, into the main room of this girl’s apartment, which was larger than one would assume, and wondered if he should wake her before leaving. However, decided against it with the thought that she might ask him to stay for one reason or another. He might have come off insensitive, especially towards the girl, but she meant nothing to him, he’d only met her last night after all. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about anyone, he just didn’t give a damn if he were alone in the world or not. He never thought about love, nor did he think it truly existed because he could not imagine giving himself over to such a weak emotion. Clearly he had his fill of sexual pleasure, and perhaps in the way back of his mind, jammed down so far into the background that he’d almost forgotten it, was the eternal seed to have a partner of the opposite sex. Certainly, it scared Hatter, the thought that someone else could have any kind of power over him the way fools in love seemed to be.
Locking the door behind him, Hatter walked out into the misty streets, an almost quaint setting if you could forget the decay looming around every corner. It was hot already and steam rose from the pavement like ghosts, surrounding the boy in a sort of hazy fog that covered up the fact that he shouldn’t be here. Meandering a way up the street, Hatter just looked about, hoping to find someone to break the monotony of his day. Not simply a girl to get into bed with, since that was not always his first thought, just someone to distract him from his loneliness. He had the strange feeling that something was supposed to happen, but he had no idea what that was, or why he even felt that way to begin with.