Re: log: cemetery - revenant and misha
Disappointment rebounded from him. He did not feel it. He was what he was, and this conversation, conversely, was hardening him to make no apologies for it. He saw the kindness of what Misha was trying to do, in a sense, but the withdrawal of understanding made him withdraw in kind. Misha wasn't trying to understand. He was trying to tell him what was. He was trying to Save, for whatever reason he had close to his heart.
The touch had mattered. It had been a warmth and a flush of good feeling where there was a barrenness of goodness. There was no chance to say so, because something with the air of heaven about it had already appeared before them, so he never had the opportunity to say what it had meant. Ah well.
He watched with inquisitive, observant white eyes as they were jointly lectured by a Thing of God. "I thank you God," he murmured, reflexively. "I who have died am alive again today." The man with the rolex was a cipher, representing something more. He understood it, momentarily, until he didn't, but he continued to understand that there was nothing human about the beyond-white, beyond-ozone presence of the angel.
He found his feet again, unfolding from the ground. He looked at Misha, who slipped from the gravestone and crouched, and caught him with a finger under the chin, unafraid of the touch. He didn't touch much, as he'd learned what to expect. Here they were, the reversal of the archetype, accidental angel antichrist caught low to the ground. "I meant to say that you were kind," he said, looking down at him, explaining at last. "I meant to say that you were good. I am not. I accept that. I understand that. I take it in with open arms. I am not good. If I were good, I would still be dead. I would be somewhere else. Though I hope," he said, looking behind him at nothing, "Not with fucking pricks like that."