[ P ] The Bleeding

face full of teeth white, but not smiling—

Red leaves crunched under a massive monochromatic structure. I slid my body against the base of one of the trees, feeling the scratch of the bark. I had left my soldiers to their training, sent some out hunting, and relished in the silence and solitude. Any more it just felt like I was playing a role that I dreaded to fill. The ambition I had burned holes in me but I wasn’t sure exactly where to put it. I had no loyalties to the Kings which proclaimed thrones, only to myself and Parathion.

So I led days bleed into nights and nights into mornings so that I could attempt and weave my plan. My plan for what? I wasn’t sure. How much could I bleed the days, the weeks, the months until I became a shallow soldier doing what he’s ordered? It was beneath me. I knew this. It pained me. But there was nowhere to turn just yet.

Abandon the army? Take to hiding in the woods with Parathion? To what avail, though. Teeth clenched as I mulled all my options over, letting the blotchy sun warm my ruined face, dapple my hide, walking absentmindedly.

—all teeth, but not smiling

code // art

damian leander blackbough

Damian shook his head, dislodging a leaf that had fallen onto his face. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it wouldn’t be the last—not with all the trees that surrounded him, and the hundreds upon hundreds of leaves that grew from their branches, practically blotting out the sun.

He was out and about, doing nothing. Aimless steps had taken him to the Redwood, where he knew his older sister sometimes came to train, either by herself or with the soldiers that were under her command. If she was around, then he was certain that she would be pleased to see him—she always was—but he was hesitant to simply pay her a visit, unannounced. She was often so busy with her duties that he didn’t always want to bother her; every now and then, it made him feel a bit bad, like he was distracting her from more important things. But even if it didn’t, if he told her how bored he was, she would probably just try to goad him into joining the Army, like she’d done countless times in the past. He wasn’t in the mood to have to sit through another one of her “I’ve found no greater purpose than serving our King and Country” spiels, especially when he knew as well as she did that he wasn’t cut out for such a life.

Remembering his sister’s oft repeated words, Damian frowned. He wasn’t a fighter, like her, and he couldn’t teach like his brother could, nor was there anything that he really wanted to study at the College. Mother and Father would tell him that there were still endless possibilities for him, that he could find his calling in any number of professions, but he’d yet to discover anything that interested him, and the few things he’d tried to do he’d failed miserably at. It was more than a little disheartening.

At this rate, what was he to do with himself? He almost wished that someone would tell him, because he didn’t know, and thinking about it too hard just made his stomach twist itself into knots.

The scent of another stopped Damian in his tracks, and he looked up from the leaf-littered ground. Ahead of him was an alarmingly large stranger, with a scarred face that made them look none too friendly. Seeing as how it was far too late for him to pretend that he hadn’t seen them, however, he gave them a polite nod. “Evening, sir,” he greeted them; Mother had been strict when she taught him manners, and so he’d felt compelled to open his mouth and say something. Even a handful of words was better than rude, willful silence.

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