!!z0ABcqUnNAP 02/20/12(Mon)18:05 No.18031317|
Knees weak, too weak to stand, you fall backwards into a sitting position on the pink rug beneath you. Placing a hand on your head, you look around the room, and back at the photo.
The picture is a simple one, black and white. Tortuga, you recognize that. You for sure see that you are drunk, severely so. But that isn’t what is eating at you, ravenously tearing your heart from its place in your chest.
Eight is propping you up in the picture, and even though it’s small, almost too small to see, you catch it. A tiny smile, which translates to so much more when you consider the man wearing it.
Scrawled in his chickenscratch, marking the white beneath it is a single word.
Next to it, a few small droplets of brown, dried blood.
You don’t even have to ask. You already know what’s happened.
“I’ll… Go make something…” Karen says awkwardly, noticing your expression, and she leaves as well.
Some men say they never cry. Some even say its beneath a real man to cry, that its weakness, for women and children. These are men that have never known true loss.
Nothing could have held back your tears, not all the forces of Malal, not the warp, not even the Emperor himself. With a muffled sound you break down, clutching the photo, unable to look down at it.
“Damn it kid...” You shake your head. You would do anything to turn back time, to just knock him out and not let him go. Though you know, deep down, he would have found a way to slip off regardless.
The hot tears roll freely down your cheeks, and you hang your head in your palm and just let them. You don’t care who sees you, what they might say. Today, a man cries.