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31_days2007-04-05 05:40 am
heavensgardener.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2007-04-05 05:40 am
[April 5th][Exalted] Come Undone
Title: Come Undone
Day/Theme: April 5 - Whisper
Series: Exalted: in the universe for the Exalted game my friend is running, EiT
Character: Cynis Falen Sarien
Rating: R, for implied shota, implied rape, and implied incest, as well as a hefty dose of insanity.
The silence is deafening. Sarien huddles in the dark, small frame shaking with the sobs he cannot suppress, nails digging into his temples hard enough to draw blood and flickers of flame running down his skin, and it isn't hard enough for him, he can feel himself breaking like glass, like porcelain (snap and bend and break), the ghost of a little boy, little mad (dead) boy. He only knows he's alive by the fact he's still breathing, but couldn't he be a ghost?
Sarien tried to be good. He kept trying to be good. It didn't do any good, he was still bad, hopelessly bad, never good, this was all his fault. If he was good, if he was good enough, this wouldn't happen to him, and it was still happening to him, and he's stopped caring.
He stopped screaming a long time ago, when they locked him here, in this cold barren room of stone where there was nothing to burn, nothing to break (except himself), they remember the flowers to ashes, they remember his screaming and his crying, they remember the glass shards at his feet, everything breakable within reach in shattered shards (like him), somewhere with no time, he doesn't know what day it is anymore or even how long he's been here. It could have been a month. It could have been forever. He stopped screaming, because no one would listen, no one would ever care enough to listen. It didn't matter.
Like him. Crying alone in the dark, lying alone in the dark where there was nothing and no one, little forgotten ghost of a dead mad boy, little pretty doll boy. Bend and break and snap and shatter to shards, and maybe only then would things stop hurting when he couldn't feel anymore to hurt. It didn't matter, he didn't matter to anyone, pretty fragile doll toy, his older brother's toy, his doll, put on the shelf until he wanted to play with him, and no one would stop him, no one cared to stop him, no one cared at all and it didn't even matter to Sarien anymore because it would always be this way, until he broke to shards, shattered broken pieces too small to be of use to anyone.
Jalide came to him every so often (perhaps every night, but there was no night, as there was no day, no time) and threw him to the floor and it hurt, it hurt, it always hurt, his brother was a man full-grown and strong and he was small and a child years before growth, and he cried and sobbed and could not help but listen to the poisonous little nothings Jalide whispered in his ear (pretty little doll, you're my pretty doll, you'll always belong to me) and he had no choice but to let his brother hurt him, he couldn't stop him and no one else did (they gave you to me, don't you know, little brother).
And his brother whispers the same thing to him, every time, after he's pulled his pants up, before he leaves him lying there bleeding, semen trickling down his bruised thighs, glass green eyes staring blankly at the far wall.
(You shouldn't be so pretty. Look what you made me do. You made me hurt you.)
And then he leaves, and Sarien is alone again, alone in the dark with his thoughts and his memories and his brother's voice echoing in his head, the same words spoken for years, for five, for six, years, after every time his brother is finished with him.
(You made me hurt you.)
It's his fault.
It's his fault.
It's his fault.
(Snap and bend and break and shatter, how close is he to falling, eleven years old and already ready to fall)
Sarien closes his eyes. Every time he closes his eyes, the whole world drops dead.
And he cries every time he opens his eyes.
Day/Theme: April 5 - Whisper
Series: Exalted: in the universe for the Exalted game my friend is running, EiT
Character: Cynis Falen Sarien
Rating: R, for implied shota, implied rape, and implied incest, as well as a hefty dose of insanity.
The silence is deafening. Sarien huddles in the dark, small frame shaking with the sobs he cannot suppress, nails digging into his temples hard enough to draw blood and flickers of flame running down his skin, and it isn't hard enough for him, he can feel himself breaking like glass, like porcelain (snap and bend and break), the ghost of a little boy, little mad (dead) boy. He only knows he's alive by the fact he's still breathing, but couldn't he be a ghost?
Sarien tried to be good. He kept trying to be good. It didn't do any good, he was still bad, hopelessly bad, never good, this was all his fault. If he was good, if he was good enough, this wouldn't happen to him, and it was still happening to him, and he's stopped caring.
He stopped screaming a long time ago, when they locked him here, in this cold barren room of stone where there was nothing to burn, nothing to break (except himself), they remember the flowers to ashes, they remember his screaming and his crying, they remember the glass shards at his feet, everything breakable within reach in shattered shards (like him), somewhere with no time, he doesn't know what day it is anymore or even how long he's been here. It could have been a month. It could have been forever. He stopped screaming, because no one would listen, no one would ever care enough to listen. It didn't matter.
Like him. Crying alone in the dark, lying alone in the dark where there was nothing and no one, little forgotten ghost of a dead mad boy, little pretty doll boy. Bend and break and snap and shatter to shards, and maybe only then would things stop hurting when he couldn't feel anymore to hurt. It didn't matter, he didn't matter to anyone, pretty fragile doll toy, his older brother's toy, his doll, put on the shelf until he wanted to play with him, and no one would stop him, no one cared to stop him, no one cared at all and it didn't even matter to Sarien anymore because it would always be this way, until he broke to shards, shattered broken pieces too small to be of use to anyone.
Jalide came to him every so often (perhaps every night, but there was no night, as there was no day, no time) and threw him to the floor and it hurt, it hurt, it always hurt, his brother was a man full-grown and strong and he was small and a child years before growth, and he cried and sobbed and could not help but listen to the poisonous little nothings Jalide whispered in his ear (pretty little doll, you're my pretty doll, you'll always belong to me) and he had no choice but to let his brother hurt him, he couldn't stop him and no one else did (they gave you to me, don't you know, little brother).
And his brother whispers the same thing to him, every time, after he's pulled his pants up, before he leaves him lying there bleeding, semen trickling down his bruised thighs, glass green eyes staring blankly at the far wall.
(You shouldn't be so pretty. Look what you made me do. You made me hurt you.)
And then he leaves, and Sarien is alone again, alone in the dark with his thoughts and his memories and his brother's voice echoing in his head, the same words spoken for years, for five, for six, years, after every time his brother is finished with him.
(You made me hurt you.)
It's his fault.
It's his fault.
It's his fault.
(Snap and bend and break and shatter, how close is he to falling, eleven years old and already ready to fall)
Sarien closes his eyes. Every time he closes his eyes, the whole world drops dead.
And he cries every time he opens his eyes.