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Title: holding on and letting go
Prompt: character death
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 397
Content Warnings/Notes: death of a child, human experimentation
Summary: "Aamin tells her stories, for as long as he can, because it's the only thing that he can do."
Aamin tells her stories, pretty fairytales, all the stories he knows and more that he makes up, for as long as he can, because it's the only thing he can do, holds her tiny hand in his and watches the flickering glow of her Vajra mark against her pale forehead, slowly guttering as if it was a candle burning out. She's ten, maybe, at the most, and dying, little by little, with no one to keep her company but him, though he's never talked to her before and doesn't even know her name.
He's surprised that he's still alive: there were sixty of them at the start, most of them like him and the little girl, torn from their old lives into this hell of experimentation by several governments for, as far as he can tell, using them to explore the Astral in order to change the real world and what they don't like about people's emotions and thoughts. There were sixty of them to start and now there are less than thirty, and he's surprised that he's still alive: she isn't the first person he's sat with as they've died like this, and he suspects that she won't be the last, unless he dies first.
Quietly, he keeps talking to her, telling her stories, and sings her lullabies, until after her grip on his fingers completely slackens and the light of her mark dies out, peaceful in death after she had suffered so in life. It was all he could do for her, with the psychic dampeners that block most of his, their, powers while they're kept in their cells and not in the Astral, so they can't do anything to try to escape.
"What's the point?" a heavily-accented, rough French voice says, and Aamin stares across to the blond young man in the cell directly opposite from his. "You keep doing this and they just keep dying. No point at all."
Aamin doesn't say anything, and just closes the little girl's eyes. He couldn't even promise to remember her forever, because he is losing fragments of himself, the further and deeper his synchronization with his Vajra goes, (his mother's smile, his father's face, his first kiss, how to smile, to cry, to laugh-), but he will hold onto her for as long as he can, until there's nothing left of him.
Prompt: character death
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 397
Content Warnings/Notes: death of a child, human experimentation
Summary: "Aamin tells her stories, for as long as he can, because it's the only thing that he can do."
Aamin tells her stories, pretty fairytales, all the stories he knows and more that he makes up, for as long as he can, because it's the only thing he can do, holds her tiny hand in his and watches the flickering glow of her Vajra mark against her pale forehead, slowly guttering as if it was a candle burning out. She's ten, maybe, at the most, and dying, little by little, with no one to keep her company but him, though he's never talked to her before and doesn't even know her name.
He's surprised that he's still alive: there were sixty of them at the start, most of them like him and the little girl, torn from their old lives into this hell of experimentation by several governments for, as far as he can tell, using them to explore the Astral in order to change the real world and what they don't like about people's emotions and thoughts. There were sixty of them to start and now there are less than thirty, and he's surprised that he's still alive: she isn't the first person he's sat with as they've died like this, and he suspects that she won't be the last, unless he dies first.
Quietly, he keeps talking to her, telling her stories, and sings her lullabies, until after her grip on his fingers completely slackens and the light of her mark dies out, peaceful in death after she had suffered so in life. It was all he could do for her, with the psychic dampeners that block most of his, their, powers while they're kept in their cells and not in the Astral, so they can't do anything to try to escape.
"What's the point?" a heavily-accented, rough French voice says, and Aamin stares across to the blond young man in the cell directly opposite from his. "You keep doing this and they just keep dying. No point at all."
Aamin doesn't say anything, and just closes the little girl's eyes. He couldn't even promise to remember her forever, because he is losing fragments of himself, the further and deeper his synchronization with his Vajra goes, (his mother's smile, his father's face, his first kiss, how to smile, to cry, to laugh-), but he will hold onto her for as long as he can, until there's nothing left of him.
