ext_20269 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
annwfyn.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
writing_shadows2011-10-07 08:45 pm
annwfyn.livejournal.com) wrote in writing_shadows2011-10-07 08:45 pm
Entry tags:
For MattMatt, as he made demands. And threats. And nearly hit me with a power cable.
It’s 3 am, and the air is thick with sand and salt. It catches at my nostrils, tearing at my lungs. I breathe in and I’m full of it.
That means that the ocean is crying tonight.
I don’t cry.
No, that’s a lie. I have cried. Those memories come back to me at nights like this. I remember Charlie, sharp as ginger, and the thick rich reek of my own blood on my cheeks. I remember Corben, his scent soft as laudanum, lingering across my skin.
He is ash now, and I have not cried since. I do not know why I cried then. I called him my brother, but he wasn’t. We didn’t share the same blood. He was part of a coterie I was sold in to, by my slick slithering sire. He was no more my brother than Gabriel Montoya was ever my father. They liked to throw those words around, but it didn’t mean anything. Dre is family, and I know that because when he is cut, I bleed. When Corben died, I felt Gabriel burn with the rage of it, almost to ashes. He would not have done that for me.
So Corben was not family. So why did I weep?
Perhaps because he was kind to me when I was alone. Perhaps because he was lonely, a little like me. Perhaps because I saw him cry for the Sire who left him. My Sire left me as well.
Perhaps I just liked the scent of him, laudanum soft against my skin.
Who knows. But I know that I did cry for him.
That means that the ocean is crying tonight.
I don’t cry.
No, that’s a lie. I have cried. Those memories come back to me at nights like this. I remember Charlie, sharp as ginger, and the thick rich reek of my own blood on my cheeks. I remember Corben, his scent soft as laudanum, lingering across my skin.
He is ash now, and I have not cried since. I do not know why I cried then. I called him my brother, but he wasn’t. We didn’t share the same blood. He was part of a coterie I was sold in to, by my slick slithering sire. He was no more my brother than Gabriel Montoya was ever my father. They liked to throw those words around, but it didn’t mean anything. Dre is family, and I know that because when he is cut, I bleed. When Corben died, I felt Gabriel burn with the rage of it, almost to ashes. He would not have done that for me.
So Corben was not family. So why did I weep?
Perhaps because he was kind to me when I was alone. Perhaps because he was lonely, a little like me. Perhaps because I saw him cry for the Sire who left him. My Sire left me as well.
Perhaps I just liked the scent of him, laudanum soft against my skin.
Who knows. But I know that I did cry for him.
no subject
no subject
no subject