fragileprophet | Week 2 - dreamshare catchall with Sandalphon

[Realizations always come too late.]

What's going to happen when this farce ends? Will you . . .

[The words die before in his throat. Does that mean that everything up till now has been pointless?]

Die, yes.

[Ion flashes one of those self-deprecating smiles.]

That’s why I asked you when we first met not to concern yourself with my well being. I have but one moment more to my name.

[He remembers. It feels like so long ago.]

No . . . If you're here, then there must be some sort of a way.

[A way to preserve this precious life, whose only desire is to live. There has to be.]

[It does. Strange how a few weeks can seem like the start of a whole new lifetime. But then, Ion's perception of time is a bit lacking.]

It would be nice if there was, but...

[His smile starts to fade. His expression says it all: it hurts too much to hope for what he wants just to find out that it won't matter. It's easier to just accept nothing now.]

I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound defeated, or like I don't appreciate what you're saying.

[He stares down at his hands, and his gaze is drawn to the fresh cut on his palm. Craning his neck, he finally sees Ion's expression—and something else.]

What happened to your wrist?

Hm?

[The question feels so sudden, it confuses him. He looks own at his wrist.]

Oh, this? Sorry, I forgot. Did I not tell you? I took one of Stephanie's injuries--from last week.

[Subconsciously, he curls his hands into loose fists, concealing the cut.]

How many more do you intend to take unto yourself?

As many as I can, for as long as I can.

[What would be the point of hiding it.]

That was my intention from the moment we received our assignments.

[That doesn't sit well with him, but he doesn't say anything. He has no right to Ion's actions. He doesn't have a right to anything.]

Even if it would mean your death?

[He sighs. After the conversations they've had...he didn't want to tell him this. But it doesn't change anything, anyone's opinions. So, it's time.]

My assigned objective is to die from my sustained injuries.

[He freezes. When the truth registers, he nearly trembles from the mounting frustration and anger.]

Didn't . . . You wanted to live for yourself, didn't you? So why are you following a task someone else assigned you?

Of course I do.

[His voice breaks, but he steadies himself, and finds his smile again.]

But if I die, in the place of even one person...that's a life that gets the chance to go on.

[It's wrong, but Sandalphon is unable to stop himself from raising his voice.]

What about your life? You're the one who wants to experience all those emotions and say what you couldn't say! Why do their lives matters while yours don't? You've given them everything!

[Ion flinches. He doesn't have an answer. He knows he doesn't, and it's pathetic.]

I don't...I...

[He hangs his head. He wants to beg Sandalphon not to yell at him, but a part of him knows he deserves it. Isn't this what everyone keeps telling him, over and over?]

It feels selfish! I'm not a real person, I was never entitled to any of it! No matter what I have to give, it can't ever be enough to make up for...for being given the chance to live at all!

[Guilt sparks in his core upon Ion's flinch. Even stronger, however, is the fury that boils beneath his skin.]

So what! You didn't choose to be created. You were brought into a life that wasn't your own . . . How can that be selfish? Whether you were born or made, you're still a person, aren't you!

[He sucks in a sharp breath, and his voice takes a turn for the weaker—a whimpering plea.]

Your compassion . . . your sorrow and your pain . . . They make you real.

I don’t know how to stop...

[It comes out like a plea, unintentionally. How can he make Sandalphon, anyone at all, understand how desperately lost that he is?]

I’ve tried so hard to see in myself what I see in everyone else—I don’t know why I can’t, why I’m so broken!

[The rebuttal that he might have had catches at Ion's shout. Sandalphon's expression sags and his body slumps in tandem with it. He reaches out to gently grasp Ion by the shoulders, ignoring the pain that shoots through his injured palm as he hangs his head.

The sad revelation dials his volume down to a faint whisper.]

All your life, you've played the part of a pawn. Of course you can't see it in yourself. There's so much in you . . . but I don't know how to make you see it.

[Because he, a discarded tool, has no reasonable basis with which to present his argument. Ion is lost, yet he can do nothing to help.]

I...I...

[He feels like a child. Maybe that's appropriate. He is a child. He knows he is. He's never been allowed to be one, and he's spent so much time and energy pretending he isn't--even when his friends found out, he still had to be the Fon Master. Still had to watch out for the world.

And Sandalphon's hands on his shoulders are so heavy and warm and he wants to hold onto them and not let him go anywhere else.

Ion cries--for the first time in his life, for himself.]

I don't want to die.

I know.

[He lifts his head and takes in the mournful sight. Ion's tears, the bandages—all the scars Ion must be hiding on that small body. Useless though he may be, Sandalphon will fix this the only way he knows how.]

I know you don't. And . . . there are others who want you to live.

[He'll fix this.]

I know...I know they do.

[He knows, and it should be so easy but it isn't. He's always been so doomed, felt so helpless to stop it. And even though this place has been like a second chance at life, from the first moment they arrived it became the same cycle. Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice, until he had nothing left. Until his life was gone.

Why does everything expect this of him? How can everyone want him to live when the world wants to badly for him to die?]

I don't want to disappoint them. I want to stay...I want more time. I'm so afraid. I'm so sorry.

[Ion slumps over even more, wanting to bury his head between his knees.]

Week 2 - dreamshare catchall with Sandalphon

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