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 Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 7:38 pm
Harland had always been so tanned, so sunny. His appearance, his personality-- you name it, Harland Leander Belle shone from the inside out.
Until the end.
The surface world had become uninhabitable-- it was filled with monsters, demons, overrun with reapers, a slew of spirits and elementals and the undead-- there was nowhere to go. Not even his weapon could save him. The sheer numbers of the enemy had overwhelmed nearly everyone, and eventually they'd taken to hiding underground.
Harland hadn't seen the sun in weeks.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 7:40 pm
Harland remembered Lilac, as he admired the soft glow of a strange fungus he'd found underground. He didn't dare touch it, lest he damage this little glowing light.
He hadn't used his voice in nearly as many weeks as he hadn't seen the sun. In this place, he had no friends; the survivors of the surface onslaught were hardly allies. In fact, it seemed to have driven them apart.
He just wanted to sit by this blossom forever, admiring it. He wanted to protect it.
Protect it like he'd once hoped to protect Lilac.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 7:45 pm
The first time he'd seen another human underground, it had been a scrawny guy with glasses. The lenses had shattered from one eye, and Harland greeted him enthusiastically only to have the scrawny guy swing at him with a lead pipe. Harland summoned Coyote and used the metal to deflect the blow, ears ringing, protesting.
"D'fhéadfadh muid a bheith chairde," Harland said, quickly. He had fallen into his Irish, with nothing left. Even his thoughts were in Irish, these days. The kid was crying, and Harland defected a second blow. The young man went to grab at some piece of jewelry on his ear, and Harland punched him unconscious without a second thought.
He assumed that he was about to summon his weapon, and Harland didn't fancy a fight in a dirt tunnel. Cheeks wet with tears, Harland left the unconscious body and made his way as far away as he could.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 7:46 pm
Harland tilted his face towards the fungus, eyes shut. He was pretending it was sunlight. He thought he could hear singing deep in the tunnels. He had dirt in pretty much every pore, every conceivable place that dirt could be. There was no point trying to pick it out. He was miserable in every sense of the word, and he figured that death was a better fate than this.
If only he could remember the way out.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 7:48 pm
There was no way to measure time. Harland collapsed against a wall of the tunnels, shutting his eyes. His shoulders shook as he cried, sobs that made him taste dirt. He was sick, he was hungry, he couldn't sleep. When he did, his dreams were all torn and in pieces.
Faces he remembered.
Voices he remembered.
It seemed the longer he was down here alone, the more he heard and saw people he hadn't been around in what felt like forever. Their visions were becoming more and more pressing.
He had taken to talking to them in Irish, and somehow they always knew what he was saying.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 7:52 pm
When death came, Harland thought it was a dream. He leaned his head against Ian's shoulder. It was actually a piece of wall. Dirt, and rock, and Harland's hacking cough.
"An bhfuil tú áthas? Bhí mé díreach tar éis a fhios. Roimh chodladh liom," Harland whispered, through cracked lips. He felt Ian's fingers brush across the bleeding skin, and Harland shivered.
There was no one there. He was alone.
Sea, tá mé an-áthas, Cowboy.
Harland smiled. Good, he thought.
Good.
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