Calm Would Come

 He leaned against the base of a time-worn building, lax hands animating with each pulse. A biting chill down the spine broke his body from the time loop. Wisping gusts swept dust onto clammy, exposed skin.

Cold flashes threw him back. Flashbacks propelled him forward.

He could almost hear the name and could smell the violent lavender almost as distinctly, but saw nothing save the distorted mirages. No tactic could force his lense into focusing any further.

Lax hands became fists. Sleeping teeth became roaring boulders.

Quivering knees would have buckled had the heart weighed anymore. He was alone with she far out of reach. Fist rapped on cage of bone. It wanted out.

Clouds mirrored the turbulent mist. A tempest lashed inside him.

Fingernails clutched and clawed at flesh and breath to come away. He wanted to remove the desperate pull beneath the pulsing muscle.

He thought of her. He thought of her. He thought of guilt.

The hole burrowed deep. He plunged into himself; blind determination raging. Rapid hammering pounded threats into open, strained palm.

Retching hand became fist. Fist retched from chest.

He gasped as if just emerging from underneath rippling surface. Burdensome muscle fell from grip and thudded in the dust before him. He—bemused by the sight of its defeat—laughed. Such a quaint, powerless thing. Its vulnerability granted satisfaction.

The beating became sedated and labored. Eyelids compensated for the lost weight.

Her hair, her hands, her grief, his heart; he saw it all now. Knees met earth. He wished he had not tried to see.

Is this what I did to you? God, I’m so sorry.

The beating shuddered then ceased.

Is this what you wanted?

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