(tw for death, some darker themes, violence but not gore, any tws for individual chapters will come with<3)
I can't stick to a posting schedule but I will take pings<3
this is broken down by parts (each with a different perspective) and then much shorter chapters, I'll be posting by chapter
part one - the Watcher
the End - or rather, the Beginning
The first thing she saw when she left the prison were colors.
Colors, like emotions, are each distinct yet soluble.
They dissolve. Blend together in a whirlpool. Splatter all over your life like deep, saturated paint.
And, most importantly, they stick.
They leave a handprint, an impression, behind when they leave. They press into your memory so they’re remembered forever.
To the girl, the green of the forest meant freedom. It meant dancing in the rain and the satisfaction of warm soup in her stomach.
The grey-blue of the sky was like childlike bliss peeling back the paint of isolation. It felt like the part of her that so desperately wanted out, that so vehemently tore at her intestines from the inside.
It felt like resisting the urge to let go.
It would be nice to say that as she did let go, let herself breathe into the abyss, feel the taste of autonomy on her tongue, the sky did too, the clouds simply dissipating to let out the infinite blue.
But that, my friend, would be a lie. The sky darkened, and became greyer, darker blue, the undertones of night coming out to play.
It wrapped her in a cloak of finality, hugged her tight, and she felt herself relax into its embrace, felt herself realize that this was it, that she was finally here.
Until she wasn’t.
A sharp sound sliced through the sky, sliced through the soft relief of knowing and the sweet taste of freedom.
It whizzed, shiny silver against deep deep blue, like a whisper of magic. If the girl had the ability to slow a single moment of her achingly short life down, she would choose this one.
Because it was oddly beautiful, captivating in the scariest way.
I suppose she would call it a silver lining. The bullet, framed against the sea of blue, blurring through the sky, certainly could be described as such.
Sometimes the moment before human death is the most beautiful.
If that’s not a silver lining, I don’t know what is.
Pings:
@Julinne Diznee
*imaginary pings for my beloved harlow*
