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Sep. 27th, 2011
[Lost/Laurence] Lay Down Your Guns...
Sep. 27th, 2011 12:28 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
golgothafiction.livejournal.com((OOC: This is very short response to what took place at the Kent game recently, nothing special, it's just a way for me to sort out what is happening to Laurence)).
He sat cross legged on the cold ground, far from the sight of human eyes, gently contemplating what had happened that day. Between his fingers he rolled the lead shot idly, his eyes looking at some dark patch of ground apparently just out of sight.
Today he shot an innocent person.
The lead was heavy and cold, and he could feel his heart sink the more he thought about what had happened. Others judged him and they found him wanting. There it was so easy, everything was scripted, things were so black and white, and here everything was muted and gray.
He had shot her with calculated and cold anger.
He was supposed to be a hero, but he was becoming a monster. He was what he had sworn to destroy. Rightly, he should destroy himself, tear himself down and rebuild something better. He had been weak and he had been manipulated. Maybe others could help? Would anyone really help a monster?
For the briefest of moments he contemplated calling her but he knew he would not be able to face her until he was more than a monster. He got to his feet and roughly cast the lead shot at the ground and fixed his gun to his belt. He needed to find someone he could trust to look after his weapon until such a time that he was ready to have it returned to him. Unfortunately there was only one names that came to mind.
He sat cross legged on the cold ground, far from the sight of human eyes, gently contemplating what had happened that day. Between his fingers he rolled the lead shot idly, his eyes looking at some dark patch of ground apparently just out of sight.
Today he shot an innocent person.
The lead was heavy and cold, and he could feel his heart sink the more he thought about what had happened. Others judged him and they found him wanting. There it was so easy, everything was scripted, things were so black and white, and here everything was muted and gray.
He had shot her with calculated and cold anger.
He was supposed to be a hero, but he was becoming a monster. He was what he had sworn to destroy. Rightly, he should destroy himself, tear himself down and rebuild something better. He had been weak and he had been manipulated. Maybe others could help? Would anyone really help a monster?
For the briefest of moments he contemplated calling her but he knew he would not be able to face her until he was more than a monster. He got to his feet and roughly cast the lead shot at the ground and fixed his gun to his belt. He needed to find someone he could trust to look after his weapon until such a time that he was ready to have it returned to him. Unfortunately there was only one names that came to mind.
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