Ashtray
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"You cold, honey?" Vincent cripples under the hand of care, shying away from the out stretching sincerity. It's wrong, and it's painful. His mum doesn't recoil, not anymore, but keeps her hand steady; resting on his pallid arm.
"I'm fine." And really, he isn't. She smiles, like she's not worried, torn up inside, and carefully retracts her hand from cold flesh.
"You feel cold, sweetie." Vincent feels it, too, on the inside. He feels Antarctica blowing frozen dreams through his lungs, caressing the walls of his esophagus with dead desires and spilling forth from his mouth like an elegant monster. Head poised and lithe body extracted - he can feel it now. Sliding up, up and away.
"You're just too warm." He can feel the monster backing up, sliding down at her presence.
Or maybe the monster is just him.
"I'm putting dinner on in a bit, dear, come down at seven." She stands, leaving the room with a hand slightly tilted from her body - petrified from the icy touch.
It's not a question but Vincent says no, mind locked on the thought of eating. A glorified process, a disgusting, dirty necessity that lowers homo-sapiens to the level of primates. He hates it, even the thought of it.
He could be a new race.
Six'o'clock. He won't stay around to eat, and she knows that. She'll make dinner, and she'll call him and he won't be there anymore. Then she'll sit and cry like she does every night, and he'll sit and watch like he does most nights.
He deserves it.
He really does.
"I'm fine." And really, he isn't. She smiles, like she's not worried, torn up inside, and carefully retracts her hand from cold flesh.
"You feel cold, sweetie." Vincent feels it, too, on the inside. He feels Antarctica blowing frozen dreams through his lungs, caressing the walls of his esophagus with dead desires and spilling forth from his mouth like an elegant monster. Head poised and lithe body extracted - he can feel it now. Sliding up, up and away.
"You're just too warm." He can feel the monster backing up, sliding down at her presence.
Or maybe the monster is just him.
"I'm putting dinner on in a bit, dear, come down at seven." She stands, leaving the room with a hand slightly tilted from her body - petrified from the icy touch.
It's not a question but Vincent says no, mind locked on the thought of eating. A glorified process, a disgusting, dirty necessity that lowers homo-sapiens to the level of primates. He hates it, even the thought of it.
He could be a new race.
Six'o'clock. He won't stay around to eat, and she knows that. She'll make dinner, and she'll call him and he won't be there anymore. Then she'll sit and cry like she does every night, and he'll sit and watch like he does most nights.
He deserves it.
He really does.
♠ ♠ ♠
Lazarus has got himself into a little trouble so there may be another chapter on Vincent next week rather than Sidney.tumblr
Constructive criticism welcome. Please, if you're here on comment swap, make the comment useful. I've had enough of the 'I don't get it' comments with exaggerated punctuation to fill the required character count.