Wild Card
Posted: Sun Feb 03, 2019 4:39 pm
2nd Day of Achtus
Sunlight on his face woke him, but made him shut his eyes again; it streamed unhindered down the slope of the hill, a warm glow that would otherwise be comforting. Right now, it was anything but, the bright light searing his eyes through closed lids. It attracted swarms of flies, which flew low over his forehead, circled, sought to land, and were overtaken by fresh swarms. He raised a hand to whisk them away, and his fingers flapped against wetness.
He opened his eyes and looked down at his fingers and saw brown and red: dirt and blood. Was it his? He wiped his hand across his leg, cleaning it best he can before patting at his forehead again. He winced as his forehead protested against the hasty poke. Definitely his own blood, Leo thought as he pressed more gingerly against the wound before deciding to stand up. Drawing his knees up as far as he could, Leo rested his hands on the fresh grass and jerked himself to his feet.
A low-hanging branch stroked against the laceration on his forehead and the sun dazzled him. The passive collapsed to the ground again, half out of his mind with pain - or was it dizziness - and then he tried again. He went on trying until gravity won. They he lay still for a while, letting the sun and the flies do as they wished to him.
When he awoke for the second time, the tree had cast a shadow over him, and he vaguely noted the time as around noon. He dug the hell of his hands into the ground again and tested its stability. Struggling to his knees, then he managed to stand up almost without effort. Looking down on himself, he saw brown tainting what were once pristine clothing. The young forger gritted his teeth and set heavy foot in front of heavy foot, determined to get back to the Attic and clean himself up before he was spotted.
Hunger and lingering alcohol from the night before made him feel light-headed. Buildings were rushing past him as he walked unsteadily towards the shop he worked in and, thus, his home. Leo’s stomach began to churn as he reached it. The boy leaned against the edge of the building and leaned over, positive he was moments away from losing whatever contents were in his stomach.
The moment never came, and he spat the building saliva out of his mouth before straightening himself back up and dusting off the shoulder of his shirt. The gesture would make no difference to his dishevelled state, but it made him stand a little taller. His head was still pounding: a mixture of the cut and last nights escapades - if only he could remember what those escapades were. Dark thoughts on his mind, he rubbed at his eyes and pushed open the front door to the Attic, stumbling inside and preparing himself for the tirade in store from Resha.
He opened his eyes and looked down at his fingers and saw brown and red: dirt and blood. Was it his? He wiped his hand across his leg, cleaning it best he can before patting at his forehead again. He winced as his forehead protested against the hasty poke. Definitely his own blood, Leo thought as he pressed more gingerly against the wound before deciding to stand up. Drawing his knees up as far as he could, Leo rested his hands on the fresh grass and jerked himself to his feet.
A low-hanging branch stroked against the laceration on his forehead and the sun dazzled him. The passive collapsed to the ground again, half out of his mind with pain - or was it dizziness - and then he tried again. He went on trying until gravity won. They he lay still for a while, letting the sun and the flies do as they wished to him.
When he awoke for the second time, the tree had cast a shadow over him, and he vaguely noted the time as around noon. He dug the hell of his hands into the ground again and tested its stability. Struggling to his knees, then he managed to stand up almost without effort. Looking down on himself, he saw brown tainting what were once pristine clothing. The young forger gritted his teeth and set heavy foot in front of heavy foot, determined to get back to the Attic and clean himself up before he was spotted.
Hunger and lingering alcohol from the night before made him feel light-headed. Buildings were rushing past him as he walked unsteadily towards the shop he worked in and, thus, his home. Leo’s stomach began to churn as he reached it. The boy leaned against the edge of the building and leaned over, positive he was moments away from losing whatever contents were in his stomach.
The moment never came, and he spat the building saliva out of his mouth before straightening himself back up and dusting off the shoulder of his shirt. The gesture would make no difference to his dishevelled state, but it made him stand a little taller. His head was still pounding: a mixture of the cut and last nights escapades - if only he could remember what those escapades were. Dark thoughts on his mind, he rubbed at his eyes and pushed open the front door to the Attic, stumbling inside and preparing himself for the tirade in store from Resha.