[in his final moments, knives had finally found peace. all his life, from that first year onward, he'd been searching for something to ease the raging storms that battered his heart and soul, only growing in ferocity as time unspooled itself before him. years turning to decades and that fire never dimmed, flames endlessly burning away until all he could taste was smoke and ash. he had burned himself to the quick, but deep down he knew this is how it would have ended. at some point along the way as his thoughts and actions became tainted with the mania that drove him to first send the ships crashing down, there would be no happy ending for him. he had created a monster out of his own fears and nightmares and when he looked at his reflection he could see the hideous beast looking back at him.
it wasn't his intention to survive after offering vash and the doctor with his young son his parting gift, and at first he was certain it really was his ending. time held no meaning and finally, finally, the aching inside him had quelled leaving him to blissful silence. it was a dream he didn't want to wake from, but of course like all good dreams, he was bound to wake from it.
the first sensation that returns to him is the heat of the suns above, cutting through the haze of what should have been an eternal slumber. soon after everything begins to follow suit, a twitch in his fingers, the dull and deep aching fatigue in his limbs, and the shifting sands that brush against exposed skin. still, he fights consciousness with a familiar stubbornness, innately hoping that if he refuses long enough the elements will take hold and drag him back down to the death he so desperately wants.
but his luck ran out a long time ago, and whatever he wants now is so far beyond his grasp there's no hope of reaching it. when he lifts his arm to shield his face from the sun, the limb is laden with cement. knives groans, twitching fingers digging into soft sands.]
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it wasn't his intention to survive after offering vash and the doctor with his young son his parting gift, and at first he was certain it really was his ending. time held no meaning and finally, finally, the aching inside him had quelled leaving him to blissful silence. it was a dream he didn't want to wake from, but of course like all good dreams, he was bound to wake from it.
the first sensation that returns to him is the heat of the suns above, cutting through the haze of what should have been an eternal slumber. soon after everything begins to follow suit, a twitch in his fingers, the dull and deep aching fatigue in his limbs, and the shifting sands that brush against exposed skin. still, he fights consciousness with a familiar stubbornness, innately hoping that if he refuses long enough the elements will take hold and drag him back down to the death he so desperately wants.
but his luck ran out a long time ago, and whatever he wants now is so far beyond his grasp there's no hope of reaching it. when he lifts his arm to shield his face from the sun, the limb is laden with cement. knives groans, twitching fingers digging into soft sands.]