"Without End" (Innocent Bird, Koumori)
Jun. 8th, 2009 12:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nekokoban posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kinkfestTitle: Without End
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nekokoban
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers for Koumori's true identity and its attendant baggage
Prompt: Innocent Bird, Koumori: betrayal - "can't pay my sins"
Word Count: 390
+++++
He woke with thirty pieces of silver in his pocket; he heard them clink in his pocket as he moved. Groggy, he sat up--slowly, fingers pressed to his temple--and looked around. His neck hurt. When he touched it, the skin was tender and rubbed raw in spots; his fingers came away spotted red. Breathing in hurt. He rubbed his fingers together and looked around: in his lap was a coil of rope, tied in a noose and frayed at the end.
For a moment he knew nothing.
Then he remembered everything.
The noise that tore itself from his dust-filled throat was barely human. He doubled over and knotted his fingers in his hair, panting against the pressure that gathered in his chest. Around him, the entire world was hideously still, as if to emphasize the empty space beside him. Shaking, he scrambled up to hands and knees, crawling a few clumsy paces before he lost his balance, pitching forward until his shoulder knocked into a tree.
He looked up, squinting against the glare of the desert sun. From one of the branches dangled the rest of the rope.
"I have sinned, for I have betrayed innocent blood--"
With another pained noise, he stretched his hand up; when he could not reach the end of the rope, he let it fall against the tree trunk and curled his fingers hard. He breathed in, breathed out, and then found himself clawing at the tree, dragging himself up inch by slow painful inch, digging gouges into the bark and tearing the skin of his fingers. His blood flowed slow and black, and he opened his mouth to scream.
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me!
The hot blue sky doesn't answer him. He focuses on the frayed end of the rope instead, straining for it, as if he could connect the two ends--pull them together and drag his worthless body with them. If only, he thought wildly, if only he could--he could remember the blackness of death, and the comfort it had been. His Lord was dead, and the rest of the world was dust and ash.
And the punishment for Judas Iscariot would be life, the torn skin of his fingers knitting back together, the cracked bones of his neck realigning, world without end.
Amen.
Author/Artist:
nekokobanRating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers for Koumori's true identity and its attendant baggage
Prompt: Innocent Bird, Koumori: betrayal - "can't pay my sins"
Word Count: 390
+++++
He woke with thirty pieces of silver in his pocket; he heard them clink in his pocket as he moved. Groggy, he sat up--slowly, fingers pressed to his temple--and looked around. His neck hurt. When he touched it, the skin was tender and rubbed raw in spots; his fingers came away spotted red. Breathing in hurt. He rubbed his fingers together and looked around: in his lap was a coil of rope, tied in a noose and frayed at the end.
For a moment he knew nothing.
Then he remembered everything.
The noise that tore itself from his dust-filled throat was barely human. He doubled over and knotted his fingers in his hair, panting against the pressure that gathered in his chest. Around him, the entire world was hideously still, as if to emphasize the empty space beside him. Shaking, he scrambled up to hands and knees, crawling a few clumsy paces before he lost his balance, pitching forward until his shoulder knocked into a tree.
He looked up, squinting against the glare of the desert sun. From one of the branches dangled the rest of the rope.
"I have sinned, for I have betrayed innocent blood--"
With another pained noise, he stretched his hand up; when he could not reach the end of the rope, he let it fall against the tree trunk and curled his fingers hard. He breathed in, breathed out, and then found himself clawing at the tree, dragging himself up inch by slow painful inch, digging gouges into the bark and tearing the skin of his fingers. His blood flowed slow and black, and he opened his mouth to scream.
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me!
The hot blue sky doesn't answer him. He focuses on the frayed end of the rope instead, straining for it, as if he could connect the two ends--pull them together and drag his worthless body with them. If only, he thought wildly, if only he could--he could remember the blackness of death, and the comfort it had been. His Lord was dead, and the rest of the world was dust and ash.
And the punishment for Judas Iscariot would be life, the torn skin of his fingers knitting back together, the cracked bones of his neck realigning, world without end.
Amen.
