Re: In person: Misha B/Damian W
[Damian, of sound mind, would have agreed that it was, indeed, better that Misha did not know he appeared as a shining star. Though, the star was beautiful. A headache was currently pounding against Damian's temples and perhaps that is what he heard, some magnification of bloodrush, inside what he did not realize was a car. Then sensation of arterial float remained. The -lub-dub of the universe pumping around him drowned out any other sounds, even that of his own voice. But, he felt he had to ask. He had to ask, the universe at large, infinity at large, if blood lived once it no longer lived within.
He did not get an answer. He heard the query, but it came from the heart walls and the shudder of valve, and he could not respond to it. Words ceased to exist for a moment of eternity and Damian could only curl and cling, he did not even know to what (it only felt the right thing to do). Perhaps the man cried once more, but if heat or salt poured down his cheeks, he was insensate. Quickly, the blade came, slicing the world open, and, as predicted, warmth sluiced out, uselessly, to spatter the ground.—Damian was outside the car, standing, but his mind had him as nothing but a smear of red blood cells lost. As the tattoo of the heartbeat retreated, weakened from laceration, and then died altogether, the man felt confusion once more.
And though it seemed as if, once out of sight, it was too out of mind—as if Damian was unable to retain anything that did not exist before him immediately, a truer comparison would be to the sludge of coffee grounds in ceramic cup. The coffee itself could be swallowed down, but like silt, grounds remained. Damian remembered. He just did not know that yet. But, it became slowly apparent to him. He remembered Misha. And there was Misha. He remembered the boy had just taken something from him, so he pressed his palms, bloody and clean, to various pockets to find whatever it was as taillights disappeared down the path away from the Carnival.]