fragileprophet | Week 2 - dreamshare catchall with Sandalphon

[Sandalphon awakens groggily that morning, his eyes meeting resistance when he opens them slowly. The tears that gathered during the dream have dampened his eyelashes, and they cling to his face. An uncomfortable lump, too, has settled in his throat. He sits up and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, wiping away the moisture as he sniffles once.

He isn't sad. There's a chasm in his chest as his hands drop and he stares off into space. There isn't a lot to think about. The dream he just had made a twisted amount of sense.

His cheeks burn and he swallows the lump. The rest of him is numb; his mind, painfully sober.]

[Ion isn't exactly sure when he goes from the dream to reality. His mind shakes off the thoughts and the feelings, but still, everything is dark behind his eyelids and he grimaces, afraid to open them...afraid there will only be more darkness.

He feels the blankets and the sheets and the pillow behind his head--and at some point, he feels the soft rustling of Sandalphon beside him as he sits up. Still, Ion steels himself before he finally lets his eyes open.

But he doesn't know if he's relieved. He doesn't know how to react. A part of him feels like he's lived so long--but logically he knows, he's still only so young and so small. His fingers curl around fistfuls of blanket. Eventually...he has to say something. The pervading silence only serves to aggravate a budding sense of anxiety inside of his stomach.]

Sandalphon...

[But the words stop as he stares up at the ceiling, his voice feeling raw.]

[Ion is awake. The call of his name sounds distant as Sandalphon mentally navigates his way back to himself. Unlike the previous dreams, the transition is almost instant.

His gaze still fixed to nowhere, his question comes out as a near mutter.]

What did you see?

[Now, as himself, he has a lot to think about. He can't talk about what he saw yet.]

Mostly darkness.

[A lot of darkness. A lot of raw emotions. But, before that...such terrible words.]

I think I understand things a bit better now.

[He blinks, though his expression remains unchanged.]

Pandemonium. That's the name of the tower.

[Then he falls silent, because he doesn't want to ask what Ion means about understanding. He remembers the darkness so well: He'd only escaped recently. The same darkness brewing in his mind threatens to swallow him again as the deafening quiet of the room closes in on him.]

Pandemonium...a terrible name for a terrible place.

[It's fitting. A place to contemplate the pandemonium that was caused, if not a place for pandemonium itself. Ion shudders slightly. He doesn't like how empty he feels. So wretched.]

Sometimes...

[He has to push through a knot in his throat--when did that get there?]

Sometimes I find myself wondering the same thing: why do I still exist?

[At that, Sandalphon's eyes narrow as he turns his head away from Ion. It's a painful question that hurts, precisely because there's never a real reason.]

I don't know. I can't answer that.

[Thousands of years later, he still can't answer that even for himself.]

I don't understand . . . Why would you question your being chosen?

Because I have seen the pain that it has inflicted on others. Because I know what happened to those who were not.

[The blood on the floor...the volcano. Nobody every really tried to keep it a secret from him.]

Because despite having been deemed the best of the lot, it was made explicitly clear how easy it would be to simply create another. Life...shouldn't be a privilege.

Edited 2018-06-21 07:10 (UTC)

[Yet life is a privilege for those who weren't naturally given the gift of life.]

Would it have changed anything if another had been chosen? That pain wasn't your doing. You . . . were merely fulfilling your duty.

Is it such a strange thought?

[He considers this.]

I don't know why I am so different that way. Despite the purpose I was created to fulfill, the only time I ever found joy was when I decided to do something outside of what was ordered of me.

[Ion pauses again.]

I've never been able to stop thinking of the others. I was given a name--if someone else's name--and a chance to keep living, while they were killed. This wasn't my choice or my doing, but I feel that someone should know what was done. Someone should remember them. So I do. I mourn them.

[Sandalphon is quiet as he tries to understand that joy. But, having no frame of reference with which to compare Ion's experience, he is unable.

Mourning, however—he lifts his head.]

You honor them by remembering whom they were.

[Not for whom they were meant to be, but for the small sliver of identity they possessed as nameless faces. Ion is, truly, compassionate.]

Yes. Who they were, and who they might have become, if they had only been given the chance.

[But the world is...no, it could be a cruel place. It still has so much good in it, so much potential for more. And that's why he wants, above all else, to save it.]

I don't think there's any such thing as a life that should be thrown away for any reason.

[Though he knows, even as he says that, that he's such a hypocrite. Because hasn't he lived his own life as if it's one that's worth being discarded? Hasn't he been putting everyone here above him in importance? Why can't he just apply these truths to himself, too? Why is it so hard?]

[That way of thinking is too broad, too limitless for Sandalphon to comprehend. He looks down at his lap, his hands resting limply on the blanket. A saying that like can easily apply to someone as compassionate and wise as Ion, who's so young.]

Even a life like mine?

[His words are soft, faint; it's unclear whether he's talking to himself or Ion. The thought is puzzling.]

Of course.

[He doesn't hesitate with his answer--and before he even thinks about it, Ion shifts to his side and reaches out a hand to place on top of Sandalphon's, his small pale fingers curling gently around his palm.]

Of course even yours.

[His hand twitches, the touch of Ion's dainty fingers causing him to wonder.]

But I'm useless . . . What point is there for a tool like me to exist, if I'm unable to fulfill a purpose?

Please don't call yourself that.

[He'll recognize that tone. He just heard it, not so long ago.]

You don't have to be assigned a purpose to have one. You've lived such a long time already, but that doesn't mean there isn't more time for you to find the meaning that you've been seeking.

I don't have time anymore.

[It isn't an argument. He's stating a fact.]

I no longer exist in my world the way I do here. Besides that . . . I have nothing to offer.

I don't think that's true.

[His heart sinks. Could it be that they're both the same in that way, as well? Ion decides not to bring it up. The more people who know the truth, the harder this gets.]

You've offered me a lot, at least.

[He exhales through his nose. He doesn't think that's true, either. If anything, Ion has given so much more in return.

More than that, this week . . . ]

My fate has already been decided. I won't fight it.

[Even so, Ion doesn't let go of his hand. He holds on, steady, even as his voice gets smaller.]

I know I can't force you to change the way that you see yourself...but your constant companionship and support has helped me so much.

[Maybe it's not the same for Sandalphon. He doesn't know. Maybe he's just been annoying, an obligation, someone to worry needlessly over because he keeps getting himself hurt and keeps trying to hide it. But, still...]

No matter where we both must go, I wouldn't ever forget these kindnesses.

[That sentiment can't last. His vision focuses and Sandalphon pulls his hand free from Ion's grasp. Already, his skin feels bare without that tender touch. He doesn't look Ion in the eyes.]

As long as you're my partner, I'll take care of you. It's the least that I can do.

[Whatever it takes.]

...I see.

[He knows it's not a rejection, not necessarily, but Ion's hand feels so cold again. Instinctively, he brings it back around to hug himself.]

I'll do the same.

[No matter what he must sacrifice.]

Week 2 - dreamshare catchall with Sandalphon

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