A name. An assigned identifier given to you by your parents at birth. It shapes you, defines you, you grow to suit it and it's meaning.
Thomas, for example, is Irish. It means twin.
Jo rushes away and grabs her gun, turning with the tight panic afforded to her by terror but the easy way in which she grips it speaks of years of hunting.
She shouldn't speak, she shouldn't pause, and yet she does.
She does and she calls him name.
And he hears it.
There is a brief moment where the body of the man she loves does nothing. It lurches half an inch forward before the tension in his shoulders melts along with the snarl at his lips.
It's a tremble that then presents itself. A fracture in his composure allowing Tom to scratch and scream and claw his way back. If only for a moment. But a moment is all he needs.]
Jo-
[Small. He feels so small. He sees Harry all around him, closing in from all directions, his breathing a cacophony of terror ripping down his spine with the unrelenting truth. This is you, Tommy. You.]
I'm so sorry..
[A whine. It feels like slow motion, every particulate illuminated by some stream of indistinguishable light source. His breaths feel long and careful when they are quick heaves jerking from his lungs.]
no subject
A name. An assigned identifier given to you by your parents at birth. It shapes you, defines you, you grow to suit it and it's meaning.
Thomas, for example, is Irish. It means twin.
Jo rushes away and grabs her gun, turning with the tight panic afforded to her by terror but the easy way in which she grips it speaks of years of hunting.
She shouldn't speak, she shouldn't pause, and yet she does.
She does and she calls him name.
And he hears it.
There is a brief moment where the body of the man she loves does nothing. It lurches half an inch forward before the tension in his shoulders melts along with the snarl at his lips.
It's a tremble that then presents itself. A fracture in his composure allowing Tom to scratch and scream and claw his way back. If only for a moment. But a moment is all he needs.]
Jo-
[Small. He feels so small. He sees Harry all around him, closing in from all directions, his breathing a cacophony of terror ripping down his spine with the unrelenting truth. This is you, Tommy. You.]
I'm so sorry..
[A whine. It feels like slow motion, every particulate illuminated by some stream of indistinguishable light source. His breaths feel long and careful when they are quick heaves jerking from his lungs.]
You've gotta shoot me, shoot now.