Guts into the back of your nose
Just a quick Alfred mono i wrote for an rp with zazzy
Civil wars. Everyone had them. Well, countries at least. They'd creep up on you like breasts on girl still trying to get her subtraction and division down or when your balls dropped and- surprise! Suddenly you sound like you threw that cute little falsetto in for something that sounded like Rocky Balboa had been your speech coach.
I can't say I liked the feeling much. There was some twisted part of me that kept saying it would just make me stronger when it was over, but I was sorta afraid to acknowledge it was there. The other, less twisted, part of me was just plain scared. It was like those carnival rides that dropped you in a free fall. Your heart pounded with every inch, every year, harder and harder and harder because you were so fucking high and when would it stop? You didn't really want it to stop either because you knew when it did all that was left was that fall.
The fall that sent your guts into the back of your nose and you squeeze those handle bars so fucking hard your arms shake, and the whole ride down you wish you hadn't gone up so high. Why did it have to go so high? When it's over though your heart's still racing, but you're thinking it's not so bad- maybe I'll do it again because I mean...what a rush!
When I look back now I guess it was more of an ache for that rush. For the way I felt like I could hear every tick of my wrist watch as time passed, the way I felt every movement on the air against my skin because when you're at war with yourself like that you might as well be teetering at the end of the bridge over Owl's Creek with that pretty noose around your neck.
You don't trust yourself. It feels horrible, but once you're past that nasty feeling it gets comfortable in a way. You check your food sometimes to make sure you didn't poison it, but you didn't because even the crazy side of you knew it'd kill you. Sometimes you can't sleep because your head argues with itself. Sometimes you drink until you can't think enough to argue with yourself. Sometimes you wallow in self pity for a month or two before that other side of you tosses a stone at your glass house- so you toss one back.
I'm sitting on a train right now, feeling like my balls dropped for the second time in my life, and I want to ask the refreshment cart for a bottled water, but if my voice cracked I'm pretty sure I'd hide under my seat the rest of the ride. I wasn't the only one. My eyes wandered to Francis who looked after the cart almost as longingly as I had, then Arthur who just look uncomfortable in general. Ivan just smiled. He always did that and it was fucking infuriating. I knew he was thinking about something- probably always was, but he thought that smile of his would lead me to think he was as empty in the head as that expression was. I knew it wasn't. I'm no moron. Yao just starred out the window like he hadn't been around for the goddamn dinosaurs and all the intelligence he'd gained since had leaked out of his ear. So, now all he could do was gape at the passing tunnel lights.
The guy was tired. We all were. Tiny civil wars were breaking out everywhere- each one inspired by another. It started with me, then it spread to Arthur like the common cold, then Francis, Ivan, Yao. Maybe I'd gotten Matthew sick too. Who knows. There was barely anyone alive in Mexico to even start a war after what happened five years back...
My eyes ended up on Francis again. He stopped bothering to look after the cart and instead turned to press his forehead against the mop that was Arthur's hair and sighed. It was so quiet I could hear my blood humming through my veins.