miqojak:

Cold Comfort

Justice

is footprints cracking in the snow

Justice

is licking bloodied fangs clean

Justice

can only bebut visceral -

hungry, determined, and mean.

I wonder, and I seethe. The fury keeps me warm - She keeps me warm - but I wonder.Will it feel any better for him? For my Wolf. When he stands in the snow, overlooking the corpses of the men who took everything from him, one day - the people who carved himout - will it feel any better?

You’re certainly no less hollow.

You have, perhaps, less to hold onto, than before.

Before, you had the fury. The goal. The pursuit. Hunger.

Now… it’s just the howling wind, and the fury whose fire is all that’s left in the hollow places. Resentment and anger, where soft, feathered things once dwelt.

Like this place - where the intensity of the cold freezes a body so swiftly that there is no hope of recovery. A vast, frozen wasteland painted in final moments of horror and pain… forever icebound, and on display.

A graveyard in which the dead scream at you silently.

They will never know peace.

Sure, they deserved it… but it doesn’t bring back those they slaughtered in kind. I, too, carry frozen moments in time within me. Moments of horror, and agony. Humiliation, and loss. An entire family. A culture.

Lost.All of it lost - when I die, it will all be gone, becauseIwill never have children. Nor a… legacy of any sort.

There is some bitter joy in that, at least, the Garleans now know a cultural extinction as well. They, too, knew the taste of hopelessness and terror that they inflicted on so very much of this star. Not just to me, no. I fought for my family and lost… like so very many others.

I don’t often care about others, anymore… but I hope we all have less nightmares, now.

Cold Comfort

Justice

is footprints cracking in the snow

Justice

is licking bloodied fangs clean

Justice

can only bebut visceral -

hungry, determined, and mean.

I wonder, and I seethe. The fury keeps me warm - She keeps me warm - but I wonder.Will it feel any better for him? For my Wolf. When he stands in the snow, overlooking the corpses of the men who took everything from him, one day - the people who carved himout - will it feel any better?

You’re certainly no less hollow.

You have, perhaps, less to hold onto, than before.

Before, you had the fury. The goal. The pursuit. Hunger.

Now… it’s just the howling wind, and the fury whose fire is all that’s left in the hollow places. Resentment and anger, where soft, feathered things once dwelt.

Like this place - where the intensity of the cold freezes a body so swiftly that there is no hope of recovery. A vast, frozen wasteland painted in final moments of horror and pain… forever icebound, and on display.

A graveyard in which the dead scream at you silently.

They will never know peace.

Sure, they deserved it… but it doesn’t bring back those they slaughtered in kind. I, too, carry frozen moments in time within me. Moments of horror, and agony. Humiliation, and loss. An entire family. A culture.

Lost.All of it lost - when I die, it will all be gone, becauseIwill never have children. Nor a… legacy of any sort.

There is some bitter joy in that, at least, the Garleans now know a cultural extinction as well. They, too, knew the taste of hopelessness and terror that they inflicted on so very much of this star. Not just to me, no. I fought for my family and lost… like so very many others.

I don’t often care about others, anymore… but I hope we all have less nightmares, now.

feral-ballad:

Inside me, something seethes. Inside me, some feral animal claws at my ribcage, trapped.

Molly McCully Brown, from Places I’ve Taken my Body: Essays

miqojak:

Cold Comfort

Justice

is footprints cracking in the snow

Justice

is licking bloodied fangs clean

Justice

can only bebut visceral -

hungry, determined, and mean.

I wonder, and I seethe. The fury keeps me warm - She keeps me warm - but I wonder.Will it feel any better for him? For my Wolf. When he stands in the snow, overlooking the corpses of the men who took everything from him, one day - the people who carved himout - will it feel any better?

You’re certainly no less hollow.

You have, perhaps, less to hold onto, than before.

Before, you had the fury. The goal. The pursuit. Hunger.

Now… it’s just the howling wind, and the fury whose fire is all that’s left in the hollow places. Resentment and anger, where soft, feathered things once dwelt.

Like this place - where the intensity of the cold freezes a body so swiftly that there is no hope of recovery. A vast, frozen wasteland painted in final moments of horror and pain… forever icebound, and on display.

A graveyard in which the dead scream at you silently.

They will never know peace.

Sure, they deserved it… but it doesn’t bring back those they slaughtered in kind. I, too, carry frozen moments in time within me. Moments of horror, and agony. Humiliation, and loss. An entire family. A culture.

Lost.All of it lost - when I die, it will all be gone, becauseIwill never have children. Nor a… legacy of any sort.

There is some bitter joy in that, at least, the Garleans now know a cultural extinction as well. They, too, knew the taste of hopelessness and terror that they inflicted on so very much of this star. Not just to me, no. I fought for my family and lost… like so very many others.

I don’t often care about others, anymore… but I hope we all have less nightmares, now.