A/N: It is pretty metaphorical, so if you don’t like that kind of thing, head for the hills and learn to paint. Basically just drabble. The italicised sentences are Chuck Palahniuk quotes. I apologize if you end up confused or upset after reading this, I tend to have that sort of effect on people. Feedback; positive, constructive and mean will be embraced with gratitude.
Impassive Darkness
The truth is you can be orphaned again and again and again.
The truth is you will be.
And the secret is, this will hurt less and less each time until you can’t feel a thing.
From the doorway he flicks off the lights of his study and the castle falls into inevitable darkness. He waits for a moment, turns his head and can’t see a thing.
He traces his hand down the rough stone hallway to guide him, his fingers mapping the imperfections. Lingering slowly, his bare feet conducting the bitter cold of the floor. Unsure if his eyes are open.
The darkness and silence drape him in anticipation.
His breathing labours, and he is not even sure if it is his. He stops near a window and holds his breath. There are no city lights in Smallville.
The stained window floods the world scarlet. He can’t see the moon. It must be there somewhere.
He releases his lungs and the glass fogs. He watches as the fog evaporates into nothing. He is no longer sure if it was ever there.
In the vacuum of night, existence is arbitrary.
Nothing to impress. Disappoint.
Nothing to make. Destroy.
Where we're standing right now, in the ruins in the dark, what we build could be anything.
He pops the latch and pushes open the window. The sudden creak of the unoiled hinges pierce the night air like a bloody scream. He clamps his back teeth willing the sound to stop. It does, but stagnancy remains. He moves away, leaving the window open.
He’ll close it tomorrow.
He comes to what he knows is the staircase and feels for the banister, taps his toe against the end of the bottom stair to assure his position and starts his ascent. He knows there are precisely 27 stairs, but has never counted them. He knows when he has reached the last one, and turns at an exact angle to the right.
The bedroom door is slightly open. He pushes it and knows that it will not creak. His eyes are immediately drawn to the mute amber of the digital clock displaying 3:43.
A lone pilot light of assurance.
He undresses and lays his clothes silently over the end lounge. Removes the covers and gently lowers his weight. Every muscle in his body tenses, attempting to quash the results of his movement.
He lays back and exhales.
The other occupant of the bed stirs and instinctively moves toward him. He has nowhere to retreat. So he stays.
“Mmm, Lex?” she murmurs sleepily raising her head from the pillow.
He knows she needs his comfort. He rolls onto his side and allows his fingers to trace her swollen stomach.
“Shh Chlo” he whispers, and he can feel her relax into him at the sound of his voice.
He looks at the orange glare of the alarm clock.
“It’s ok, I’m here.”
And for a moment, here in the darkness, he almost believes it.
Reply With Quote
Bookmarks