しおかぜat the end
(wip) modern reincarnation au
“I’m sorry, Jamil. It’s all my fault.”
“Don’t blame yourself. Please don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m…”
For as long as he can remember, Jamil Viper has been haunted by a recurring dream. There’s nothing to see and he doesn’t speak. It’s pitch black in this dream and the overwhelming stench of sickly copper always drenches the thick air he breathes as he holds something, someone desperately in his arms. Sometimes, when he’s especially tired, the cursed dream dresses him in a soaked tunic that sticks to his bare skin like glue – or at least that’s how it feels. Nothing really ever goes on in his dream, except the words he hears repeat in dreadful, endless cycles. I’m sorry, it’s all my fault, don’t blame yourself, don’t look at me, and then a long stretch of silence before they echo in his ears once more.
It's a rotten, nonsensical dream, and in his nineteen years of life Jamil has never been able to figure out why he keeps having it. He’s never experienced the terrible sense of urgency and tragedy that he feels course through his body in his dream. After all, he’s no one special in this life. Still, the dream always plays out like it’s real, as if he’s lived it before, perhaps a long time ago. By now, he’s gotten used to the wrenching ache that remains, carved into his chest, every time he wakes. His heart races like a chronic, untreated illness that he’s simply learned to deal with and no one – not even his parents or his sister – ever needs to know. This doesn’t concern them.
“I’m sorry for leaving you alone. Or maybe you’ll be just fine without me.”
“…”
“Ha…haha…”
“Stop talking, you idiot. Why did you do something so stupid?”
Ah, he hates this version of the dream the most. The version that doesn’t end until he’s forced to wake up with a throbbing pain in his chest.
“That’s right. I’m just stupid.”
“Shut up, don’t say that. You’re not supposed to agree with me.”
“I moved without thinking…I couldn’t let them take you away from me.”
“…”
“I’m sorry. I know you’re angry. I’m sorry for making you angry.”
“I hate you. Stop apologizing.”
“You don’t have to forgive me.”
“Look at me! Don’t you dare close your eyes on me!”
“The others…will find you soon. It’ll be fine. It’ll all…work out…”
“Don’t blame yourself. Please don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m…”
For as long as he can remember, Jamil Viper has been haunted by a recurring dream. There’s nothing to see and he doesn’t speak. It’s pitch black in this dream and the overwhelming stench of sickly copper always drenches the thick air he breathes as he holds something, someone desperately in his arms. Sometimes, when he’s especially tired, the cursed dream dresses him in a soaked tunic that sticks to his bare skin like glue – or at least that’s how it feels. Nothing really ever goes on in his dream, except the words he hears repeat in dreadful, endless cycles. I’m sorry, it’s all my fault, don’t blame yourself, don’t look at me, and then a long stretch of silence before they echo in his ears once more.
It's a rotten, nonsensical dream, and in his nineteen years of life Jamil has never been able to figure out why he keeps having it. He’s never experienced the terrible sense of urgency and tragedy that he feels course through his body in his dream. After all, he’s no one special in this life. Still, the dream always plays out like it’s real, as if he’s lived it before, perhaps a long time ago. By now, he’s gotten used to the wrenching ache that remains, carved into his chest, every time he wakes. His heart races like a chronic, untreated illness that he’s simply learned to deal with and no one – not even his parents or his sister – ever needs to know. This doesn’t concern them.
“I’m sorry for leaving you alone. Or maybe you’ll be just fine without me.”
“…”
“Ha…haha…”
“Stop talking, you idiot. Why did you do something so stupid?”
Ah, he hates this version of the dream the most. The version that doesn’t end until he’s forced to wake up with a throbbing pain in his chest.
“That’s right. I’m just stupid.”
“Shut up, don’t say that. You’re not supposed to agree with me.”
“I moved without thinking…I couldn’t let them take you away from me.”
“…”
“I’m sorry. I know you’re angry. I’m sorry for making you angry.”
“I hate you. Stop apologizing.”
“You don’t have to forgive me.”
“Look at me! Don’t you dare close your eyes on me!”
“The others…will find you soon. It’ll be fine. It’ll all…work out…”
