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Culmination // for John
Jan. 1st, 2020 10:09 pm[CW: this whole post is a severely upsetting abduction scenario involving threats of physical violence, restraint and imprisonment, verbal/emotional abuse, and some graphic choking. There will also be violence and death in the immediate follow-up, and just like a ton of trauma and some gnarly wound care after that. Please take care and read responsibly. <3
To avoid the choking scene entirely, skip from "We're disposable" to "Eventually, his patience seems to wear out."]
January 7th, 2020
It’s a cold, clear day Martin’s chosen for a walk through the woods, the earth blanketed by a thin layer of soft snow. He’s been taking these walks more and more often lately, each time venturing a little deeper into the relative wilderness beyond Candlewood. It’s lovely out here, quiet and peaceful, and even after so much time spent rebuilding himself from the lasting marks left by the Lonely, sometimes it is good to be alone. He needs that, needs to reclaim it as something healthy and wholly his. So, he takes walks.
Generally he’s quite used to the ambient sounds of nature, the little creaks and groans of wood, the subtle rustling of an occasional animal. Today, though, something feels a bit off. He’s not sure what it is or if he’s just imagining it, but he can’t shake the sense that there’s some kind of pattern in the sound, or that the silences feel too heavy. It’s difficult to parse or confirm, but there’s no allaying the curl of nervousness in his gut. Paranoia is like an old friend, and he trusts it more than he once did.
So when he stops, and the noise around him stops as well, that nervousness too easily turns to dread. He takes a moment to steel himself before he slowly turns around slowly, but he sees only the quiet, empty woods, which isn’t entirely reassuring. He peers into the stillness for a long time, the snowy earth, the barren trees, and listens. All he hears is the soft breath of wind sifting through sleeping branches, and finally, only a little mollified and thinking he ought to head home now, he turns back to continue.
( There is no time to wonder )
To avoid the choking scene entirely, skip from "We're disposable" to "Eventually, his patience seems to wear out."]
January 7th, 2020
It’s a cold, clear day Martin’s chosen for a walk through the woods, the earth blanketed by a thin layer of soft snow. He’s been taking these walks more and more often lately, each time venturing a little deeper into the relative wilderness beyond Candlewood. It’s lovely out here, quiet and peaceful, and even after so much time spent rebuilding himself from the lasting marks left by the Lonely, sometimes it is good to be alone. He needs that, needs to reclaim it as something healthy and wholly his. So, he takes walks.
Generally he’s quite used to the ambient sounds of nature, the little creaks and groans of wood, the subtle rustling of an occasional animal. Today, though, something feels a bit off. He’s not sure what it is or if he’s just imagining it, but he can’t shake the sense that there’s some kind of pattern in the sound, or that the silences feel too heavy. It’s difficult to parse or confirm, but there’s no allaying the curl of nervousness in his gut. Paranoia is like an old friend, and he trusts it more than he once did.
So when he stops, and the noise around him stops as well, that nervousness too easily turns to dread. He takes a moment to steel himself before he slowly turns around slowly, but he sees only the quiet, empty woods, which isn’t entirely reassuring. He peers into the stillness for a long time, the snowy earth, the barren trees, and listens. All he hears is the soft breath of wind sifting through sleeping branches, and finally, only a little mollified and thinking he ought to head home now, he turns back to continue.
( There is no time to wonder )
