backatthehotel: (Really a cry)
Pink Floyd (Floyd Pinkerton) ([personal profile] backatthehotel) wrote2013-10-26 11:27 pm
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You cannot reach me now, no matter how you try... [for allbloodyhail]

He didn't know what had caused it. Why, between breaths, the scales had fallen from his eyes, and he'd seen -- finally, again, with a permanence that he could feel, that he knew no guilty memories or internal judgment could banish from him -- seen his human weakness and his fear slip away from him. He had his wall again, as tall and strong and seamless as he had ever dreamed of it being. Nothing would reach that vulnerable part of him, ever again. And it would reach nothing, to taint with its weakness. Just like that glorious nightmare, so long ago.

Perhaps he wouldn't storm through the streets like that dark god, his followers marching obediently behind him, spreading their hate like a cleansing fire through streets clogged with filth -- perhaps he wouldn't, but to know that he could, that he was that man -- finally, again -- was enough.

He did not laugh -- though he felt it bubble to his lips, it did not pass them. -- as he whirled 'round his flat, tearing old reminders of his sentimentality from his walls and shelves, old photographs and sentimental vinyl, all in a growing pile in front of the door. Maybe he'd burn it, he thought, feeling a cold thrill at the idea. Destroy everything of that fool that he could. Finally, fully, be the man -- thegod -- he could be.

By the time Spike came, the flat was in tatters, though not, yet, on fire. (Small mercies.) There was the sound of running water in the bathroom.

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