He doesn’t move. He could. The feeling has come back to him now; where he was completely frozen before to the point of delirium, he is now perfectly warm.
The memories come flooding back; of his friends, of the elders, of their dancing, of his exile and imprisonment, his escape and return. And of his Ma, his Pa, and Gloria.
He’d failed them. He’d failed them all.
He’d returned with the promise of salvation, of better days and fish for all - and here he is instead. Dead.
He wonders if they’d miss him. His Ma would be heartbroken. Gloria, he wished he’d left on better terms with. He wonders if she even notices he’s gone. As for his Pa…
The newly remembered words of his father’s, mixed with Farrah’s, echo in his mind. Pa would notice. And his life would be better for it. He, after all, was the one who gave him the ultimatum: denounce who he is, or leave.
Well - now he’s not coming back.
In the freezer, he’d rendered himself hoarse calling out desperately to an indifferent silence. Someone had been there, someone should’ve been listening - someone should have done something - But he doesn’t remember anyone doing anything at all. Mumble Happy-feet, to his knowledge, had died in isolation. Unknown, unnoticed.
so slowly, so slowly -
A song echoes in his mind. Or rather, it echoes on the outside. In the great beyond of the space they occupy. As if from the heavens above. That song, Gloria...
into hearts of those who -
He hears movement, and feels himself dragged to his feet by some force of will flooding back into his body. The coins jingle in his pocket. If there's someone out there, then - then -]
Hey!
[He calls out to the figure that passes by, and freezes when he sees her face.]
What... [He breathes heavy, confused.] What are you doing here?
no subject
Mumble, in the locker room, lies still.
Baby uh, uh -
He doesn’t move. He could. The feeling has come back to him now; where he was completely frozen before to the point of delirium, he is now perfectly warm.
The memories come flooding back; of his friends, of the elders, of their dancing, of his exile and imprisonment, his escape and return. And of his Ma, his Pa, and Gloria.
He’d failed them. He’d failed them all.
He’d returned with the promise of salvation, of better days and fish for all - and here he is instead. Dead.
He wonders if they’d miss him. His Ma would be heartbroken. Gloria, he wished he’d left on better terms with. He wonders if she even notices he’s gone. As for his Pa…
The newly remembered words of his father’s, mixed with Farrah’s, echo in his mind. Pa would notice. And his life would be better for it. He, after all, was the one who gave him the ultimatum: denounce who he is, or leave.
Well - now he’s not coming back.
In the freezer, he’d rendered himself hoarse calling out desperately to an indifferent silence. Someone had been there, someone should’ve been listening - someone should have done something - But he doesn’t remember anyone doing anything at all. Mumble Happy-feet, to his knowledge, had died in isolation. Unknown, unnoticed.
so slowly, so slowly -
A song echoes in his mind. Or rather, it echoes on the outside. In the great beyond of the space they occupy. As if from the heavens above. That song, Gloria...
into hearts of those who -
He hears movement, and feels himself dragged to his feet by some force of will flooding back into his body. The coins jingle in his pocket. If there's someone out there, then - then -]
Hey!
[He calls out to the figure that passes by, and freezes when he sees her face.]
What... [He breathes heavy, confused.] What are you doing here?