Is It Wrong To Dance This Line? [Cass/Insight]

[attr="class","nref"]It was merely astonishing to say the very least at how time flew by so quickly. It was faster than light, then again, there was no light in hell except the ones that illuminated from the flames that burned those who sinned. It was amazing how such a little distance can feel like a million miles away. Away from home. Away from his heart. Away from the light. Away from what he wanted, his dreams, his hopes. If he ever could hold on to those anymore. There was no stars to look at where he laid, beaten and broken. He laid in his cage. Blood seeping through his flanks and sides. He knew not of whether he would die soon. Nobody could hear him scream. Because there was nobody to listen (or at least not right now). There was nobody to hear him out. To reach beyond the bars, to find their way through his crumbled walls and behind empty eyes and find his broken heart. To find the shatters of what used to be, the broken memories that laid inside his mind. The even darker haze of thoughts that swam through his brain and plagued him so. It cast a disease, there were so many things that was wrong with him, so many sins he had committed. This was his punishment. He would of never thought there would come a day where he could say without a doubt, with no shred of hope or faith, that he was depressed. He was sick. He couldn't escape this disease. It consumed him the longer he sat in this dark place day after wretched day. And anywhere he went was a battleground. He could still hear them. Still hear the roaring crowd. The cheers and the applauds of the people as their heart yearned for blood so. He couldn't shake it from his mind and it haunted his dream. Everybody saw the bright lights, the brighter colors, of what was a circus, but everything was black and gray. There was no white, a sea of cruelty, an ocean of ice-cold hearts. There was no sympathy where he laid.... and if there was, it was rogue.

He had made a friend down here, but she would not stay. It would only be a matter of time before she was caught. Before she was thrown into here, locked behind bars, where she hid in the darkness. How much hope would she have then? It would be his fault. He made her care. He made her come to him, in all his desperation and covered in fear. It almost made him nauseous thinking about such a sweet and innocent girl in the dark. Hope was always crushed by those around us. It was taken in by the shadows, lead by a false sense of security, of safety. Curiosity killed the cat, and it will be the death of him too. He held no hope in this hell, the flames were invisible, but ever so real. It tortured him day in day out. The cover at the top of the ceiling was hardly anything, only soft rays of light streaming through the holes. He saw no stars. No moon. Not even a tiny white speck he could gaze at. He could only gaze at the ceiling as it swirled in front of his eyes. He couldn't fall asleep, couldn't even drift off to his nightmares, it would risk a coma. He shifted his mix-matched gaze to the small streams of blood on the ground, red crimson against gray. He stared into what reflection he could see of himself, the dull eyes, yet so full of despair. Of hopelessness. He couldn't see any light in the red and blue oceans.

His friend had left. Everybody had left. There was nobody around. Nobody looked for him. For who could find life among death? Among the ashes there he laid. Through the forgotten flames there he stood, surrounded by death. For he was dead. He was a ghost of sorrow. A ghost of suffering. The days that stretched out, the weeks that ran circles by him, the months that passed as he stayed down here, was all hell. He was no angel. The only heaven he could ever dare to have was so many miles away, she was so far away, he couldn't reach her. He was trapped behind bars of depression, trapped by a lock made of no hope. He had abandoned faith long ago. Nobody would find him, and he had no will to escape. No strength to bring him to his feet and break the bars that captured him. In this hell there was no escape. There was only him. This was his hell. The worst part is... he could feel her pain.

He could feel her sadness. He could almost hear her thoughts, almost saw what she did. Only faint blurbs and hazed and scratched images running through his head. He could feel the numbing in her arms, the guilt and depression she held so close to her mind. He couldn't help her... her pain was his fault. He had left her in that house. Left her with their child, having to look at its face only to be reminded of him. He could feel it all. Every tear drop. Every crack of her heart. Every single second her mind broke it was like a knife jabbing through his heart, killing what was left on the inside. Tears slowly slipped from his eyes as he stared at the walls, the drops slipping to the ground. The cold ground he laid on felt like a void to which he floated on, surrounded by his nightmares, by his suffering, by the blood he spilt. What god would you call to when there was nobody looking out for you?

He didn't want to kill. He was forced to. The blood he shed was on his hands. The sin piled up, crimes he had to commit. He didn't want to do it. But he was a monster on the inside. He wanted this all along, to kill, to feel the special metallic taste dripping from his tongue. He wanted to strike fear in another's eyes and watch the light die from their eyes. But not like this. This wasn't what he wanted, this wasn't what he was meant to do. The blood lust had died. The crimson blood was just another liquid holding all his sins, all his crimes, all his faults. He heard the roaring crowd as talons struck against skin and tearing muscles, but he had no pride. He felt guilt.... he was a monster. He was a devil. This was the hell he deserved. This was all his fault. All his fault..

[attr="class","fwea"]everything's made

1134 words

Cassia Alia Macario of Insight

[attr="class","fwea"]to be broken