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Cracks in false stone -- Part One
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Sat upon the chest in the middle of the biggest room in his home, Blince stared at his hands. As if they had blood upon them. And, in his mind, they did. Even if they weren’t to anyone else’s eyes. His heart beat out of sync, the thumping being heard in the back of his head while his eyesight slowly faded to black, while his lids closed. The only thing that he could hear was the voice in his head, one that wasn’t his. His conscience.
“You’re an idiot.” The voice snarled at him. “You think that nearly beating that Martie-man, and then trying to hand her someone else’s necklace will show you’re ‘LOVE’?”
“Don’t.” Blince’s own voice said back. “I know what I did was stupid.”
“Then why’d you do it, hrm? Why’d you let it happen?” The voice snarled back at him.
Light then filled Blince’s gaze as he stood, looking towards the stairway up to where his woman, Jemmima, lay. She’d gone to lay down, and even told him to join her. Even after what he just did. The conscience didn’t allow that. Sharp ringing went through his head as he rose up, his fingers clutching the side of his head.
He then marched outside, to the mannequin he used for training Zurich, which had already been given a beating. His blade came out from behind his back, and everything went white. The only sounds he heard was a muffled noise. Once he came to, Blince found the figure completely destroyed before him, and his machete stuck inside.
Stumbles brought him back, and a hand held his features. Everything was falling apart in his head, and there was nothing he could do. That Martie had tried to, and succeeded at, grabbing Jemmima twice. In Blince’s mind, that was the same as the Hill men grabbing his wife and daughter, with him unable to stop it. The scene of Martie grabbing Jemmima played over, and over, with only sharp ringing to compliment the horrifying vision, until everything went white again.
The early hours of the morning broke, and Blince found himself pressed against the outside wall of the voice. His body shaking, everything shaking. His mind, his breath, his voice, hands. Everything. And just then, the voice returned.
“Well, aren’t you just the most proud mess up of the day. I’m sure she’ll love to see you now, hrm? Broken? With no one to blame but yourself?” The Voice snarled out once more. But it was broken by the calls of Jemmima in the morning, going to find where Blince had gone.
He was already pale. He was already broken, and still breaking. She couldn’t see him like this. Oh—Please don’t let her see him like this.
