Status: its in lowercase bc #aesthetic

A Life in Intervals


you were twenty-four when you were first chased by a subjugater.

you were with your then-boyfriend, rycil. you both were fleeing, a monstrous member of caste nine chasing you, vestigial fins and all. you were on a spaceship. most of the crew was dead. you knew this because you saw their corpses.

you remember that most of their heads had been bashed in, brown and yellow and green and blue blood mixing together to create a muddy palette. rycil pressed his fist to his mouth.

shit, he said. most of them probably drowned in their own blood.

you mumbled that subjugaters would make terrible assassins.

rycil was in favor of fighting it. you were in favor of running, escaping, somehow.

you ended up fighting it.

it was easy to tell where it had been, judging by the trail of blood. words of a prophecy were scrawled on the wall in olive blood. the two of you track it. ironically, it's near the escape pods.

you remember it moved slowly, like a zombie out of a horror flick. multiple shades of blood of smeared its features, hands, neck, even mouth.

shit. rycil said.

you weren't fazed. you don't know why. you tell it that it had done a rather extreme form of damage to the ship.

damage ain't the word, it snarled, offended. your walls were blessed with fucking prophecies.

you told it that you were referring to the crew. then you told it that it was under arrest.

it threw its head back in laughter. you remember it was a terrible sound.

you lawyers are fucking RIOTS. i damn near forgot how funny your shitblood type was.

you both advanced at the same time. you were smaller than it, but you were faster. soon enough, your swords at at its throat, one front and one behind.

rycil's voice was smug. as my partner said, you are under arrest.

damn, bitchsibs. you've got balls.

the rest of fight was a blur, but something went off-plan.

it managed to pin rycil under it, large hands wrapped around his throat. you didn't see details, but you stood up, shaking, and staggered towards it. you raised your sword above its head, and brought it down, severing its head from his shoulders.

it fell to the side slowly, almost comically.

you went right to rycil. you shook him, even though you know that it wouldn't help. blue-green bruises had started to flower on his neck. you remember tears pressing behind your eyes, hot and wet and unpleasant. you hadn't cried since the academy. you let out a cry of grief, and buried your head into his still-warm shoulder.

you were covered in its blood. it was a beautiful aster color.