Work Text:
He felt nothing. The pain from below has gone, especially from below. The limbs felt like they'd been cut off. It's amazing that there are no past awakenings because of the sound of bones crumbling.
There is no happiness or sorrow. And what's the point? If the next cycle passes anyway. Where they'll put him in the mud, they'll inject something that makes his head spin and his mind go blank.
Where's Gopher?
Gopher, Gopher, Gopher, Gopher, Gopher, Gopher...
The emptiness in the skull of Sanday is diluted by a whisper, which turns into a long moan. He doesn't notice the movement of his lips. His own. Bitten to the bone. Loudly.
Why is he here? Why is there an angel with wings that can only drag through the mud of mistakes and collect dust?
Gopher plays easily. Changing the affection, tenderness, aggression... Confusing the child's mind. Preventing them from getting used to a certain type of flow of circumstances. It's like getting high on pure drugs. Even more intense. He can't compare these feelings to anything else. They fueled his animalistic greed to see Sanday so weak and pathetic.
The desire to die is beautiful. Watching someone drown is even more beautiful. If you give him your hand, he will bite it off.
Sunday has forgotten how to cry. His body and mind are in harmony. Gopher is a good master, tuning the strings before playing a melody and burning the instrument.
This is the perfect life. He looks like a doll and is made of plastic. Life is neither sweet nor slow. He has toxins in his lungs, and his pulse is slow.