there's so much beauty in a storm » k.q + v.f

8| twisted perspectives

his eyes were as wide as the haunting full moon towering above his head, only visible when the trees shifted against the wind, leaving it's sharp beams to pierce through the leaves. kellin stood, shrunken into his own form with the colour drained from his skin.

it was dark out. noticeably dark.

kellin couldn't even remember how he had come to be outside, much less without so much as a jacket to protect his arms from the chill of the breeze.

he could feel himself stumbling. weight shifting from foot to foot, not even, not constant. he could feel his body jolt with every noise, but he couldn't be sure that he was actually doing it. things didn't seem right. all he could do was stare straight ahead, his legs doing all the thinking.

was he even sure this was straight ahead?

the wind whipped fast around his head, his dark hair falling into his face and obstructing his limited vision.

was he paralysed?

his body ached for something so vivid in the forefront of his mind, but he still, no matter how obvious it was to everything but his conscious, couldn't put his finger on it. what did he want? what was he craving?

destruction.

he wanted a storm. he wanted trouble. he wanted someone— something to blame for his self-made secrecy. what was he trying to accomplish through being with vic? this somewhat twisted experiment was all some desperate plea for someone to see just how fabricated all he knew— all he had was. nothing was stable. not even, not constant. ever changing and ever twisting.

twisting, twisting, twisting.

be it words, perspective, morals. everything was twisting. how could he rely on a twisted perspective? he couldn't.

he was walking on thin ice, his footsteps no longer careful. not even. not constant. he was struggling to avoid falling through.

don't sink. turn around. steps light. weight spread. don't sink.

the wind picked up, howling in his ears. crashes. rumbles. slipping. walking.

he was panicking, moving quicker on the slippery ice as it appeared beneath his feet. he didn't know where or why, he just knew it was obligatory.

you're not afraid?

footsteps got quicker. breathing got heavier.

you're not ready?

he thought he heard the ice crack; felt it shift beneath his feet. never before had his heart gone so far up into his mouth.

don't sink. don't panic.

all of the air was sucked out of his lungs in a split second as he fell through the sharp ice. everything sped up from the second he fell to the second the paralysing chill of the water bit at his face.

he screamed, choking on the water that would soon be his demise.

no one could hear him.

he soon became unnervingly aware of something grasping his leg, ignoring his frantic thrashing around as he tried to resurface, the light through the small hole in the ice fading into blackness.

when will you realise?

he needed to go up. why couldn't he fight it? why couldn't he pull? why couldn't he respond?

he looked down, trying to see what was pulling him further in.

those helpless, drifting eyes.

the recognition killed him. that was when he stopped. his arms ceased in their panic as a final bubble of air left his open mouth.

this wasn't peace. this wasn't right. the unsettling fact that vic was the one dragging him down still nipped at his mind.

he wasn't letting this one go.

but oh, how he tried.

the last twitch of his body saw his mind left with a single thought as he was ripped from this terrifying nightmare into another one.

underwater with eyes wide, kellin had his destruction. he had his storm.

he felt cold.