Thu Feb 23, 2012 7:37 am
They were the memories of mere months, things taken and collected, and hoarded, to ease a thirst in the soul for which he had no name. A silver light, a morsel of Knowing. What should he do, now that he Knew? Alien memories. They came with Alien thoughts, Alien feelings, intrusions on his thoughts that would leave him weeping on Jarod's clothes. He had to admit that he was Mad. No innocence could save him from such knowledge anymore. A dangerous thing, madness, and a dangerous Knowing. His body, and his mind, were not things that were fully under his control.
In his memories, he knew that this was ever how it was. Time spent in his body, in his skin-prison, only heightened it. He took this madness on himself, and wrapped his body within it, let it gnaw at his core and his brains and the shattered remnants of his soul. With trembling fingers, only half-aware, he tied patient knots around willing necks. He the took the memories from his mind in an effort to ease them, to put them somewhere, anywhere, that wasn't inside him. Some part of him knew such a gesture useless, but the Mad part insisted, needled, and once denied, it forced. It wanted that peace. It could not have it.
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In the morning, in full view of the Myrkentown walls, and the Broken Dagger, their hung from the trees a multitude of silent, staring suicides. Dolls, in various stages of decay, in various, filthy clothing that ranged from naked to almost-new. Skewed eyes, missing eyes, missing hair, missing limbs, and limbs attached where their human counterparts were never found. They swung gently from the winter-skeleton trees, his Memories, holes and lidded eyes and missing eyes watching the places where his Memories had become mad.