get up, you tell yourself. get up. but is it you, is it you really telling yourself this? how do you know what's real and what isn't anymore? for all that you've endured, over all these years. watching your mother recount the final repentance of your fahter. you didn't trust it even then with the way she shielded the truth from you. through her own emotions and from the rest of the world. the way she begged you to take care of yourself, only to die in your place. the way your own wife, she began to shield her emotions from you more and more towards the end. hiding things from you that you still don't know to this day. the times you would have to toss aside your anger for those memories of that sweet melody of laughter and those enticing feelings she had with you. all for the sake of believing in her, that she would come clean. that the arguments would mean nothing in comparison to this.

until you watched the light drain out of her eyes. with children in your arms, as she specifically told you she had it. you didn't believe her but she was hiding then too. she was hiding everything, except the way she had held your daughter moments before. but it never ended, even in your grief, you went to her sister. you found her only for her to hide too. shielding you from her true feelings. you tried to keep it together, to pull it all close to the vest but where was that ever possible? where was anything possible except for those children. the only things you have in your entire life that didn't try to block you out.

and now? now you need them to. now you need them to and it hurts. you don't want to bring this new person into their life, even though its only a body. another person that will end up leaving them. the face of another person, that is hopefully only here temproarily. you shouldn't be there right now, like this, with them. you're more trouble like this than help. but you need to get up, get off the bed, and go. move. anything, anywhere. for them. because if you don't, what good are you? what good are you for them? what good are you for this body? what good are you for yourself? you may as well have died the day she did, if this is how you'll be. blocked from everything, locked away, all because you can't handle this human existence.

Everything is dark and yet there is light all around. The emptiness reaches so deeply that it feel bottomless, beyond meausre, beyond this body. Forced up and wandering, by what was left of a source of will for something that was beyond this person, beyond both. A soft gentle all too created breeze brushes against a face, as eyes close, drinking in the sunlight. High above this all too mechanical, technical world, looking down but not quite touching stars. Hair flies forward, tickling the nose and cheek. Here for the peace, the tranquility, but also for more. A shread of hope of this entire situation, that it may end soon. That in whatever heist that may have been had here, whomever held the capability to commit this treacherous act, may simply have finished their business and left them all to their actual lives. Instead, of fleeing the scene that holds them still.

Instead, here this person stands, all too human while having grown in such a different form. So many memories kept hitting him like a wave, one after the other. All those years he had been forced to not say a word. To stay quiet, due to what his voice could create. Even for a small semblance of time, it could be used as it's own weapon. Whether accidentally or in earnest. Both had been made into truth more than he would ever willingly admit. From having others turn on one another, or even on himself, without the knowledge of how to handle it. Having even a person turn on oneself. Or the way that his late wife's death had only fueled every emotion he held deeply within him and unearthing something far darker. With only pieces of the memory to remain. The way he made them hurt one another.

Everything surmounted in this moment of the most freedom he would ever hold in this lifetime. Ear piercing, blood curdling, and from the pit of this body's stomach. A mouth open wide, directed up to the sky. A scream forcing out every question, every pain, every thought that was haunting him in this, every single anxiety and hurt. He wouldn't expel his demons, but temporarily find solace in an experience he was withheld from. A loss from a rigid scope of feeling, one he couldn't speak through. Even one he needed to keep his children safe from. It was enough to form the smallest of earnest smiles through this.

the thrumming of veins, it reminded him of something but it took a moment to realize what that was. this body held too many notable differences. there was no rush in this, no positive feeling to draw about this. the feeling, it held a shattered position from inside, yet together. the striking meaning of that hit him hard. a feeling he knew all too well in an almost primal state. the way that it took hold of him, gripping in time. frozen and running all at once. fixated in this, breathing only increased. what was wrong? he had felt this in himself, but never to this level. only in others. either way, he was able to think through it, to try and help.

trapped, trapped in this body, trapped in this place, trapped on terminus, trapped in every sense of the word. a mouse in some else's game. he refused to scurry, he refused to give anyone that satisfaction. he would hold, endure, without all of this. were those the muscles tingling, shaking, as hands reached up to push this foreign hair back? was this real or just his imagination? swallowing thickly, he moved to sit on the floor. eyes closed, he focused on more than the dark, but a tapping. one that wasn't so far away, but his own energy moving against the floor. drumming away, trying to match his breaths to the beat. deep, slow breaths. in the mouth, out the nose. each muscle tightened and relaxed to steps in the beat, beginning at the neck and shoulders and slowly moving down to the next. breath, in and out. breath, in and out.

eyes slowly opening, he found a focus ahead. a door knob he imagined opening. one where the other side meant he was able to walk away from this life, this body, and meet everything that was his on the other side. of everything he missed from his past, his present, and what he hoped for his future. that his son and daughter were on the other side of that. smiling and happy, as if nothing had ever happened. only having another regular day that wouldn't deter them from their studies, or this very human filled galaxy. previous worries about them losing their own heritage for this one, long gone and lost to an energy that was spent long ago. because all he wanted was to be himself, taking care of them, keeping them safe and secret the way he has. because everything was going to be okay. they were okay. he was okay.

the shock, the audacity, the actual unmitigated gall. having sat here for almost two hours, he had become quite tied to the characters. ignoring the slight tightening in his lower abdomen, the mild fatigue, and the tension all around, gaze narrowed. an icy stare was connected to the holofilm itself, as the rest of this scene played out. an empty bowl of popcorn settled on the table before him, feet up next to it. in a flash, a pillow from the couch sailing through the screen. he jumped to his feet, arms waving. "how could you m'arco? you knew full well what was going on here. don't you lie like that." another pillow sailing at the man's head. "she gave you everything! everything!"

"Ugh!" he started again, moving to pace, to and from the holofilm itself as it continued to play. tempted to stop it there but unable to. there was more to this story and he wanted to smash a tray into whomever wrote this terrible story. Hair whipping around his face, he grabbed the previous pillow that lie on the floor now, and swung it again through the holo. watching as it barely phased the image, growled. "you pathetic piece of shit! go back to the corner of your cockroach motel. you deserve to be the one that was stepped on. but nobody wants that stuck to their shoe. go fuck off on the other side of the universe."

stomping over to the refrigerator, he went looking for something else to calm himself. something that wasn't looking at the face of an asshole. it wasn't his fault he chose to take up an acting gig as this lowlife. ian wasn't that delusional. only lost in a wave of emotion. pulling out some ice cream, he also paused and reached for some water. symptoms needed to be relieved, but here he was trying. the freedom of these emotions, he didn't know what to do, how to feel. at the same time, he may as well have been scaring himself with them. "people suck," he grumbled.

"Again!" he called out, eyes focused, jaw set. He couldn't imagine how strange this was, how much it effected her. It was as though he were shielded all over again. But right now, it didn't matter. If he was going to do this, he was going to do this now and get through this. Commit to the creation of muscle memory, at least for this woman here. He didn't know what she did, he didn't care. His mind recalled the movements, the shifts, even the way he would cheat by following the emotions that followed along. Instead, he was left to watch the other woman's body shift, the little movements give her away. The stern look that came in reply though, that was one he wasn't expecting. Instead, hands waved her on. "I said, again." This wasn't his typical night, and he only had so much time before she had to be with the kids again. This was when they were the weakest, the most vulneraboe to outside, to anyone that wanted them.

this body, he wasnt much taller than shanii. but it didn't stop him from the purposeful slip. the one thing that always aggitated her the most. "Or didn't you hear me, shorty?" the slow smirk that came over his lips came over the realization of how much that snapped the other woman's attention. bouncing on the balls of her feet, he waited for her as he tightened his ponytail. beads of sweat slowly dripping down and tucking away. block, block, step, hit. block, block, step, hit. hit, step, block. there was no telling how long this would last, being in this body. preparation needed to be held. if there was a fight, if there would be a need to come. to protect his family, his life here, and this woman's body.

he understood why human's had such greed for control. how they had so little of it in their lives, how they were left as empty as he had felt over this time. not understanding the full range of emotions, he never believed he was more evolved in any way. only different, and grateful for as much. to hold such an existence where you were left in a universe full of so much. it pushed them to perservere in ways that many others could not. in many ways others would not. it was more powerful than he expected. and now it was his.

light and soft, but a cold chill that shifted. rubbing the mixture between his fingers, he lifted it to his nose, sniffing it. from one jar to the next, he was curious as to how this worked. why would it work? he didn't understand any of it. the strange things that people did. how much of his life had left him hiding or working? following orders, commands, what others asked of him regardless of if he believed in it or them. how many times had he been shielded from the truth, it didn't leave much room for trust here. but why would they sell this if it wasn't quite so marketable for a reason? he had seen some of her supplies before, when he was digging for information and ideas and understanding. now he was left with different aspects of this mystery.

staring at this reflection, the one of carina and not of vorr'ian, his head tilted to the side. without his empathy, he viewed her the way one might a painting in a gallery. looking over her features, scrutinizing the differences, the similarities, and everything in between. instead of being a 45 year old aev'ik man, here he was. how much damage might he have done by being here? to harden any softer features, how much her life may have been truly disrupted with all that is his. Would he know of extra wrinkles? Was it freckles that they worried about? Looking down at a hand, with a chipped nail. Thumb running across it lightly. He'd seen this, seen the difference it made. Heard of as much. Now notably told as much.

None of this was his fault, it had nothing to do with anything that anyone could have changed. 1 in 1000 ,they said. outside of his abilities, there was nothing special about him. he was sure of it. the way that he saw things, his views, they were trivial. even as he believed nothing was. none of that mattered, but care, more than the running, the excercise, the full workouts, the eating and crying, more needed to be done. the shop would handle itself as it always had done when he was gone. she needed more too. she deserved it.

when the devil cries	347aidan	2:28	▶
the way that you see me	powfu	3:02	▶
stuck	numl6ck	2:06	▶
save me	7RU7Hs	2:52	▶
say it out loud	juttes	2:00	▶
reckless	lund	3:26	▶
rock bottom	guccihighwaters	2:45	▶
i said hi	amy shark	2:51	▶
catch 22	illy ft anne-marie	3:43	▶
exit sign	hilltop hoods ft illy, Ecca Vandal	3:43	▶