[Blood, Dereality, Death In HEAVY DESCRIPTORS, 626 Words]
Barnaby (The 2nd One) wasn't sure how it happened, or how he got here. Nor was he sure on whether he deserved this position or not.
Laid upon the cavern floor, which already managed to fill them with distaste regardless of the circumstance, still besides the occasional twitch of a dying muscle or shaky, quiet cry. He was actively trying to hold them back in a feeble attempt to play dead, just in case his blurry grey assailants were still around. Not like he could check. Everytime he tried to crane his neck just a tad, he was hit with an awful, awful stinging pain.
The quietness, other than her own fading breaths, indicated that she was, in fact, maddeningly alone.
This was not a good time to be left in solitude. Aching and afraid and scared and frightened and every other negative synonym their fleeting mind could spit out. They quickly brushed the previous revelation off. Nothing was fleeting, no one was dying. Especially not them.
Yeah. That's right. He'd been in enough life threatening situations to know that staying calm was his best bet. He would be fine. He would be fine.
Keith would come looking for her any second now, she knew it. Knowing him, he'd be far too worried to just stay at home even after twenty minutes of Barnaby being gone without notice. That's how it would go. She was imagining it now. He'd tumble into the shallow cave right on cue, spouting mainly concerned yet endearing nonsense as per usual, and Barnaby would be saved. Dragged from the jaws of death once more by her lover, right back home to be patched up and good as new.
Any second now.
Any second now.
Barnaby was too preoccupied with their body beginning to feel more and more like an oversized ragdoll that they hadn't considered how far from home they had run in a hurry. How far from home they were. Rescue in three minutes or less was absolutely out of the question, but they didn't know that.
As the blood pooled, the delirium began. The walls span and dripped like liquid concrete though they were as solid as they had been on the day they were discovered, and the warm sunshine from the near-exit shone ever brighter and brighter and brighter until it couldn't possibly be real. He was scared, though the clashing of whatever remained in his deteriorated brain intoxicated him until he was unconditionally calm.
Why should she be scared? Her husband was here, ready to comfort her, to save her as always. She really didn't know where she'd be without him.
Of course, they didn't remember seeing him come in, but what matters is that he was here now, running his fingers through their dusty blonde hair softly and whispering words they couldn't make out at all. The sentences sounded more like the crunch of a static t.v than actual syllables. They brushed it off to being a headache, rather than the questionable realism of their husband at this moment.
Still, it calmed him in these final moments. Even as his throat finally began to leak and bubble with blood, minutes later than it initially should have. It seemed as though things were getting risky now, was what he exhaustedly thought as he kept dragging his scarred hands through his own matted hair at a more than sluggish pace.
Her husband had vanished, and the walls were still and the sun was setting. Though, she still weakly held out hope that he would return momentarily, finally to drag her from the crypt that would fairly soon be her tomb without immediate action.
So,
They waited.
And they waited.
And they waited.
And they waited.
And t
