Somewhere in the bowels of hell...

Jul 10, 2003 22:38


//My thoughts are hazy, but they keep going back to us, how we spent our last day before I came here just being together, and how you held me as we slept. Being close to you like that… I felt so safe and secure, like nothing could destroy that. Nothing could take me away from you. But I guess I was wrong, because I’m here, wherever here is… and all I want is to be back with you. Every part of me hurts - the burns, cuts and bruises, and my lungs scream with every shallow breath I take. I there’s no feeling in my badly damaged wings, either, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to use them again, they’re so messed up. But in all of it, I think my heart hurts the most. I’m slumped forward on my knees, my arms and wings stretched out behind me in these shackles that are too short for me to find a more comfortable position, too exhausted to stand. My wings are chained back tightly, and have sustained many tears and torn muscles and ligaments, and my body’s burning from the fires yet shivering from my naked exposure. All I can think about it getting back to you… somehow. I can feel you, worrying over me, and I think right now this is what gives me hope that I’ll get home to you. I have no energy to move at all, as they’ve come back repeatedly through the night and day, different demons sometimes, too, to use me as their play thing, and it’s my thoughts of you that help me withstand it now. They’ve taken almost everything from me - my pride, my dignity, my wings, even my fellowship tattoo, which Marton viciously sliced off my hip with a knife, claiming I had no right to bear it any longer - but in all they’ve done I’m trying to have hope. There’s one thing that I have, that they haven’t taken yet - and I pray they wont, because in my heart I’ve promised it to you; I can’t let them take that from me, from us. The rest of me can heal eventually, but this… once it’s gone, it’s gone. If they take it, take me, like they did risen Nick, then I really will be dead - maybe not in body, since apparently angels can’t die again, but in spirit, because I remember what you told me. About choosing carefully whom I gave it to. I want you to have it. But I have to get home first. So until I do, I’ll keep thinking about you, trying to let you know that I’m here as I numbly watch my tears drip off my down-turned face and create patterns on the cold stone floor beneath me. Miss you, Nick. Find me… please.//
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