InsaneJournal

Who. Tomáš Davydov and open.
What. Sarajevo slash the Arena.
Where. DREAM WORLD.
When. First day.
Warnings. High for lots of stuff.


He'd been here before, every night since. But he still stood there, mute, deaf and paralyzed as the shattered glass and broken stone of the bombed building fell down on him like a hard rain born of war. Somewhere deep inside his brain was a little voice that told him that even if he couldn't hear it, the air was thick with the cries of the shocked and wounded, his sister's among them. And as he'd done every night since, the proverbial little angel and devil on opposite shoulders whispered in his ear.

'{I can't do it}' Because he'd tried so many times. And because of it, his dreams had been about himself being blown into pieces, digging through the rubble until his fingers were bloody little stumps and his lungs were full of dust. He'd been buried alive, he'd been shot point blank, but not once had he found his little sister.

{but maybe this time-} Hope. That little fucker didn't know when to quit. While hope could kiss his pretty little ass, it won him over every single time. And again and again, it would make him dig through the rubble until his fingers bled, except something was different tonight. He'd never heard anything before - the explosion had taken care of that and yet, he swore he could hear something permeate the silence.