Mason (poppetshow) wrote in camulus, @ 2011-07-24 20:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! narrative, mason halloran |
WHO: Mason Halloran [POPPET]
WHAT: Just what Mason's been going through this past week and an answer to just what it is as it finally comes to an end.
WHEN: Early sunday, July 23.
WHERE: The gym.
RATING: PG-13 for bad language and disturbing imagery.
Pain. Hurt. Murder. Death. Murder. Kill.
She's been with him for a week now, raw chaotic noise and pain buzzing in his skull ever since the exorcism. Since he and Niz sat cross-legged out on the schoolgrounds under the stars, firelight dancing across the doe's blood on their clothes. Since Niz had managed to pull knowledge and screams from the whirling mess of souls that had been plaguing Mason, discovering that they'd risen up out of Hell with him back in Czech. Since that fucking soldier had blundered across and fucked everything up, Niz's concentration breaking and the spell with it-- magic and spirits rent and screaming through the air.
Unmake. Unmade. Broken. Pieces forever and ever.
They'd managed to kill him quick enough, making a break for the gym and seeking shelter, but she'd tagged along. One spirit broken off from the rest, a splinter of a soul stuck beneath his skin screaming out her agony. Ranting and railing, keeping him awake well into the early hours each night, forcing him to catch his sleep in snatches and bursts. Screaming inside of him as he fights until he can barely focus, cutting and tearing at himself in the hope that killing and keeping their attackers at bay would afford him some solace.
Murderer. Murdered us. Made you. Birthed you. Brought you. Broken. No heart. No soul.
Angry shouts and fragmented, jagged thoughts, that's all she was. A being of hate and hurt flashing images of his death through his head, twisting up his insides and refusing to let him be. He'd killed her and she needed vengeance. Justice.
Mothers. Your mothers. Made you. Killed us. Hell. Bastard. Broken. Break you.
As the days went on, he found himself barely able to hold it together, struggling to sift out her words from those of his friends. He flinched whenever she'd scream, the raw thrum of it wrecking him, making him double over as if punched. When the people around him had started to look at him with confusion and what he assumed was pity, he'd retreated, sullen and sulking in a corner. He'd curled up in on himself and tried to block it all out. And that was when she pulled him under.
It was sudden, a sickening sensation of falling and the next thing he knew the world was just... gone. And all that was left behind was the deep, dark nothing he found himself floating in. He scrambled desperately at first, frantic and panicked and praying that if he struggled enough, he could claw his way back to something. After what felt like hours of futile flailing, all he'd managed to do was tire himself, muscles sore and aching and for all he could tell, he'd barely moved an inch.
And then she'd come for him, bare scraps of a girl tearing out of the darkness with a snarl to circle him, screaming away.
Murderer! Destroyer! Soulless! Tore me! Pieces now! Broken soul!
Wheeling around, he tried to cover his ears but it was no use; she was everywhere, broken down into slivers that could slide between his fingers and work their way through him. Biting at his lip, he tried not to cry out at the horrible, nauseating feel of it.
Broken! Sent to Hell! Damned!
Each word cut through him like a knife, carding through his insides as she worked her way into him, borrowing about as painfully as she could until it was all he could take. Sobbing, he cried out, "Stop! I-- Jesus, I'm sorry! I'm sorry..."
Sorry?! No! No use! Broke me! No sorry!
But he tried all the same, shaking his head and weeping, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..."
No sorry! No soul! You broke my so--
She halted then, an edge of her brushing across something... wrong. The pain stopped but tears still rolled down Mason's cheeks as what was left of her soul wrapped its way around something that it shouldn't have. Something that felt like it was never meant to be touched.
My soul...
The darkness slowly started to drift away, a scene from years ago coming in its stead. A shared memory. Three young girls sitting beneath a full moon, calling forth the power to bring a little cloth boy to life. The broken pieces of soul pulled Mason about and they watched together as the air grew thick and heavy with magic, a sudden 'crack' rang through the air and the spell tore through the girls, lifting the last one in the line up into the air and wrenching something out of her. Time seemed to slow as the girl dropped, pale and lifeless, to the floor and together Mason and what was left of the soul watched as the pieces that had been torn from it were forced down into the girl's rag doll, bringing it to life.
Pain. Hurt. Torn. Hurt me. Hurt you. Made you. ...my soul. Made yours.
Wracked with feelings he couldn't even begin to understand, Mason sniffled, "Didn't want it... Don't--"
Didn't kill me. ...didn't kill them. Me. I. We killed. Your soul... Pure.
And with that one last damning word, she pulled loose of him.
Won't. Hurt you. We won't. Stop them. I'll.
Her voice was halting, turned sombre and melancholy as she slipped away, taking the darkness with her.
Mason woke with a shout, a cold sweat on his brow as he gasped for air. As his senses slowly came back to him, he glanced around the empty gym, glad that noone could see the tears in his eyes. Moving to sit up he was struck the most by the silence, an eery quiet hanging over the building; No battles, no shouting, no screams and accusations bouncing around his skull. It was a novel sensation after more than a month or torment and torture but he took no solace in it. He knew that they wouldn't be coming back, the spirits, knew that what was left of the voice would see to that but he still felt no better. All he could feel was the heavy pull within his chest, the leaden weight of his newfound soul.
******
TL;DR version?