Grady Fletcher (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} gradyforhire) wrote,@ 2007-08-28 04:56:00 |
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097 - Talk about something you did that made you feel ashamed of yourself afterwards.
He ran into the woods to hide. He was hiding from himself and the anger he could not control, being in the body of an animal that should not experience that emotion. Once he was inside the tree line, he laid down, facing toward the house. It was not her fault, she had only done what he had asked, and so he would not leave her exposed and unprotected.
He watched her step out on to the porch and he fought his urge to run to her. He beat the desire down and let himself just whimper quietly. He watched her slid the door half closed and saw the faint glow of a light in the hallway. He sat up and watched the house, watching the very faint shadows through the paper walls.
He knew she was laying down with his body. He'd seen her laying against his sedated body earlier. And it had confirmed what he was starting to believe. It was his body that she was in love with. It was the things that he could do to her with his body that she wanted. It was not his mind or his soul.
That knowledge left him to wonder what would happen when he really did die. Would she really transfer his soul into a body that could not give her what she wanted? There was no point to it, since he would be unable to give her what she loved him for. There was little he could do with the realization, though.
When staring at the house started to make him nuts, he started stalking through the woods around the house. He went up to where he'd buried, then eaten, the poacher and picked up a femur. Carrying the bone in his teeth, he made his way up around the back of the house. He laid down there and watched the house as he gnawed on the bone.
An idea passed quickly through his mind. He should just enter the house and kill his body. Then he would know if she really loved him. If she still wanted him when he could never be human again, he would finally have the truth. He even started to get up, the bone temporarily forgotten, and head toward the voice.
Instead, he continued around the house, patrolling the perimeter. Stressed, he always reverted to trained behaviors. The mundane and repetitively nature of it allowed him to think, to reconsider what would effectively be suicide. As he came out in front of the house, he was distracted and almost missed the boar in the clearing.
The wild boar did not, however, miss him. The animal, easily the largest he had been since the jungles of South American, charged at him. A tusk clipped his back leg as he came around in an attempt to avoid the boar. He snarled and eviscerated the mammal, watching it go down. Stumbling to the ground, he licked the wound until it stopped bleeding.
When he could walk, he closed his jaws over the boar's neck and started dragging it to the house. He was bleeding again by the time he got the carcass up onto the porch. Looking at the door, he considered going in and begging for aid. After a few moments of internal debate, he laid down next to the boar carcass and dozed off.
A few hours later, he got up and limped off into the woods. He left a faint blood trail off the porch and through the grass. Once in the woods, the trail was lost in the underbrush, obscuring his path to the pond. The injury, however, did nothing for his stealth and the other animals in the woods fled his path.
He collapsed next to the pond and drank from it, his face almost in the water. Once he had drank his fill, he shifted and laid on his side. He panted quickly, his eyes half closed, as pain washed through him. The boar's tusk had torn into muscle and he could feel his heart pounding in his leg. He passed out, still listening to steady beat of the jaguar's heart.
He dreamed of how he could have behaved better. He dreamed of how he could fix the things he had destroyed. He dreamed of getting his dignity back. But the dream that came between each of those was the dream in which he did everything exactly the same, shaming them both over and over again in his mind. His heart pounded the hardest then. His leg throbbing and twitching in time with his shame and fear, he whimpered and mewled in his sleep.
No animal came back near the pond in the course of the night. He did not wake up completely, either. Instead, he dreamed of the life he could have, the life he did have, and the life that would never be his.
(818)
He ran into the woods to hide. He was hiding from himself and the anger he could not control, being in the body of an animal that should not experience that emotion. Once he was inside the tree line, he laid down, facing toward the house. It was not her fault, she had only done what he had asked, and so he would not leave her exposed and unprotected.
He watched her step out on to the porch and he fought his urge to run to her. He beat the desire down and let himself just whimper quietly. He watched her slid the door half closed and saw the faint glow of a light in the hallway. He sat up and watched the house, watching the very faint shadows through the paper walls.
He knew she was laying down with his body. He'd seen her laying against his sedated body earlier. And it had confirmed what he was starting to believe. It was his body that she was in love with. It was the things that he could do to her with his body that she wanted. It was not his mind or his soul.
That knowledge left him to wonder what would happen when he really did die. Would she really transfer his soul into a body that could not give her what she wanted? There was no point to it, since he would be unable to give her what she loved him for. There was little he could do with the realization, though.
When staring at the house started to make him nuts, he started stalking through the woods around the house. He went up to where he'd buried, then eaten, the poacher and picked up a femur. Carrying the bone in his teeth, he made his way up around the back of the house. He laid down there and watched the house as he gnawed on the bone.
An idea passed quickly through his mind. He should just enter the house and kill his body. Then he would know if she really loved him. If she still wanted him when he could never be human again, he would finally have the truth. He even started to get up, the bone temporarily forgotten, and head toward the voice.
Instead, he continued around the house, patrolling the perimeter. Stressed, he always reverted to trained behaviors. The mundane and repetitively nature of it allowed him to think, to reconsider what would effectively be suicide. As he came out in front of the house, he was distracted and almost missed the boar in the clearing.
The wild boar did not, however, miss him. The animal, easily the largest he had been since the jungles of South American, charged at him. A tusk clipped his back leg as he came around in an attempt to avoid the boar. He snarled and eviscerated the mammal, watching it go down. Stumbling to the ground, he licked the wound until it stopped bleeding.
When he could walk, he closed his jaws over the boar's neck and started dragging it to the house. He was bleeding again by the time he got the carcass up onto the porch. Looking at the door, he considered going in and begging for aid. After a few moments of internal debate, he laid down next to the boar carcass and dozed off.
A few hours later, he got up and limped off into the woods. He left a faint blood trail off the porch and through the grass. Once in the woods, the trail was lost in the underbrush, obscuring his path to the pond. The injury, however, did nothing for his stealth and the other animals in the woods fled his path.
He collapsed next to the pond and drank from it, his face almost in the water. Once he had drank his fill, he shifted and laid on his side. He panted quickly, his eyes half closed, as pain washed through him. The boar's tusk had torn into muscle and he could feel his heart pounding in his leg. He passed out, still listening to steady beat of the jaguar's heart.
He dreamed of how he could have behaved better. He dreamed of how he could fix the things he had destroyed. He dreamed of getting his dignity back. But the dream that came between each of those was the dream in which he did everything exactly the same, shaming them both over and over again in his mind. His heart pounded the hardest then. His leg throbbing and twitching in time with his shame and fear, he whimpered and mewled in his sleep.
No animal came back near the pond in the course of the night. He did not wake up completely, either. Instead, he dreamed of the life he could have, the life he did have, and the life that would never be his.
(818)
