literature

In the Pit: too close

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Literature Text

My mother had a saying: we always become what we love the least. I used to think she was trying to scare me into being a good girl, but over the years I've realized that it’s true...especially since I've become a prime example.

I wasn't trained to be a killer. Quite the opposite, actually; I was in training to be a healer when my mother died.

I don’t remember her face, just her voice. I guess it’s better that way, because if we become what we love the least, I’d’ve long since become her.

Tal knows I have problems, and he tries to play psychologist, constantly. He’s always trying to get into my head; trying to figure out why I don’t speak, anymore.

He won’t figure it out, of course. He couldn't know about Kaori, and if he did, he’d be silent as well.

I guess Tal is becoming what I’m not. He treats my wounds, even the ones he knows will never truly go away. And he’s patient, and so…calm. He never yells when I flinch, even when he really should. I wonder what that says about him, which makes me wonder what it says about me.

At night, he tells me about his life. He’s not nearly as old as he looks: In my years, he’s about seventeen, though he looks nearer fifty. The hair on his muzzle is greying, and his body is covered in scars. He moves slowly; the cold of the dungeons beneath the Pit has long since invaded his bones, but he’s still lightning in battle.

He pretends to know me, but he doesn't even know my name. No one here does; no one here ever will; but it seems a bit indecent to have known the ferocious mutt for so long and still have him call me ‘Hey, you.’

“You’re going to have to talk some time,” he says neutrally, his eyes closed. He’s leaning against the stone wall, seemingly relaxed.

I stay silent, not looking at him. I have too many memories with the dog-man. If I look at him, I might break, shatter into a thousand pieces like the mother I barely knew.

“C’mon, at least tell me your name? It seems wrong calling you ‘Beauty’ all the time. And I can tell you’re getting tired of ‘you’.”

I stare at him, wondering how he figured it out. Tal—the dog; I must force myself to call him that in my head, because he’s still a dog, wild and ferocious, no matter how close I presume to get. The dog knows too much.

The dog could reach out and kill me from where he sits.

The dog doesn’t.

“Move back; you’re getting too close, Tal. In more ways than one.’I think to myself as I move back, into the corner of the cell. He seems to know why.

He just sighs and leans his head back, beginning to fall asleep. And then I do something crazy.

“Leah. My name is Leah.”
Aghhh I'm beginning to like Tal and Leah together and I don't know why......but still. 

The rest of the story:       scarsfrommypastlife.deviantart…
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GhostOfTheEmptyGrave's avatar
I wonder what will happen next to these two.