A/U: Haven't mustered up the energy to write the second part of restless momentum yet. in the meantime, enjoy this, a weird product of 15 minutes of guilt of not-having-updated-anything.

it's a little different than my usual thing, but I hope you enjoy it!

note: this is also posted in restless momentum, but I love it so...

Music:

sleeping sickness - city and colour

this could be a disaster.

This could be a disaster.

I'm standing there, heart torn out of body, held in my small hands, tight enough to feel it beating and yearning to leap out of my suffocating grasp. Blood is gushing out. I need someone to take the heart from my hands, need someone to hold it for a moment, or two moments, or three, or many. I need someone to hold it, not only because a heart needs several hands to hold, but because I need to sew this mess up. I'll probably need help with that too.

Things are looking bad. The room is dark, not at all how others have described it. People have made this out to be glorious, as easy as inserting a needle, but in reality, it's not easy at all, and inserting a needle is completely underrated. Such a small thing may seem like nothing to someone watching, but has the potential to be everything to somebody else, most vulnerably, to he or she who's having the needle inserted.

It beats, steadily. It's still calm, although it slides, and I feel it pouring from my hands. I just need someone to take this from me, to hold it for me for just a second. I wish I could put it back, but not yet. My body wouldn't allow it.

Someone comes. Dark hands attempt to take the beating organ from me, but my fingers don't open, and my body seems to turn to stone. I ask myself why I can't let go as the dark hands retreat, but I'm met with the irregular beating of the heart. It skips along, growing faster. Another pair of hands reach out to take it, but first, they touch me. They touch my face, softly, melting the ice that keeps me still. They touch my arms, their warmth growing from small patches to large areas. It spreads throughout my body, and I relax a little.

My hands still hold my heart, the heavy burden of a heart.

I'm still holding it out for someone, to someone. The hands continue their path, continue comforting me, continue melting me. I want to tell them to go to my hands, to do it before I can't take it anymore. The hands don't. They attempt to sew up this gaping wound, but the job is done half assedly. The stitches stretch and hurt and rip against my skin. The hands retreat back into the darkness. The blood on the heart drips at a set pace, creating a small puddle of it on the ground.

My heart begins to fail.

My knees buckle, I try to stand still. My vision blurs, the dark is more prominent, the heart starts to disappear. I shake and quake, lurch and squeeze the heart a little too tight. I inflict pain upon myself. I fall to my knees, but I try to keep my hands holding this heart. I keep holding it out, yearning for someone to take it, waiting for someone to take it and help me back up.

At the last minute, someone does. A pair of hands, arms, legs? A body forms from the darkness, a head, hair. The facial features appear as well, and as I am weakening, they reach out to me. They take this heart from my hands, carefully navigating it into theirs. They look at me with warmth, and a feeling I've not experienced before.

I feel my heart in their hands. Slowly, I am able to get up. I try my best to resew where I ripped it out, over top of the shoddy job the pair of hands had done before. I smile, not just with my mouth, but with everything I have.

Things were going well.

And then, I feel sharp pain. I look, and they have dug their fingers into the heart. They grip it in such a way that it hurts me, it hurts all of me, every tiny particle that makes up my body. They each scream out, each a unique stab of pain so brutal that I fall again.

They drop the heart. They step on it. Before I can do anything, they disappear into the darkness again. The stitches rip open, I reach towards the heart to save it, to lift it off the ground before it disintegrates for good.

I'm too late. Everything turns to mush, black consumes, and I am gone.

For good.

This was a disaster.

deliciously morbid, eh? I'm so secretly twisted.

it's cool.

:D review, my pretties~!

-chewyy / juliee.

R&R.