Erik Lehnsherr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
markedformore) wrote2012-07-26 11:36 am
markedformore) wrote2012-07-26 11:36 am
July 30th - Amnesia's End
The gun is in the middle of his clothes.
Erik picks it up cautiously, confusion ebbing through him as he picks up the weapon and holds it firm in his hand. He's supposed to know something about this. He's supposed to understand something about the weapon, but Erik strains to think of what it is. Hefting it up until his fingers slide over the butt of the weapon, he recalls how so many guards had brought these with them in order to enact the peace.
He takes it with him and finds a spot near the mansion he awoke in, sitting cross-legged as he stares at the weapon in his hands. Everything that he has been dreaming about, the thoughts and the feelings and the darkness edging in on the lightness he has been feeling. Staring at this weapon, he begins to remember, now.
I believe that true focus lies somewhere between rage and serenity.
Carefully, cautiously, Erik lifts the gun to his forehead and presses there lightly, the weight of it familiar, heavy.
Oh, come on, you know I can deflect it.
Rage. What has Erik ever known of rage? Like a bolt, it hits him, strikes him, and he drops the gun like his hand has been burned. It has been, but not for some time. Erik stares at his forearm, the numbers making sense once more and horror begins to creep into his awareness, always underscored by rage, rage, singing through him and his happiness begins to fade away, though stubbornness holds tight and that happiness refuses to budge.
There's so much more to you than you know.
Erik gasps sharply and it all comes back. Everything. Pain, anger, but the joy and the happiness and the good memories too, buried so deep that he thought he'd lost them forever. Breathing raggedly, he fights through tears and presses a fisted hand to his chest to try and overcome the ache there.
He remembers.
Erik picks it up cautiously, confusion ebbing through him as he picks up the weapon and holds it firm in his hand. He's supposed to know something about this. He's supposed to understand something about the weapon, but Erik strains to think of what it is. Hefting it up until his fingers slide over the butt of the weapon, he recalls how so many guards had brought these with them in order to enact the peace.
He takes it with him and finds a spot near the mansion he awoke in, sitting cross-legged as he stares at the weapon in his hands. Everything that he has been dreaming about, the thoughts and the feelings and the darkness edging in on the lightness he has been feeling. Staring at this weapon, he begins to remember, now.
I believe that true focus lies somewhere between rage and serenity.
Carefully, cautiously, Erik lifts the gun to his forehead and presses there lightly, the weight of it familiar, heavy.
Oh, come on, you know I can deflect it.
Rage. What has Erik ever known of rage? Like a bolt, it hits him, strikes him, and he drops the gun like his hand has been burned. It has been, but not for some time. Erik stares at his forearm, the numbers making sense once more and horror begins to creep into his awareness, always underscored by rage, rage, singing through him and his happiness begins to fade away, though stubbornness holds tight and that happiness refuses to budge.
There's so much more to you than you know.
Erik gasps sharply and it all comes back. Everything. Pain, anger, but the joy and the happiness and the good memories too, buried so deep that he thought he'd lost them forever. Breathing raggedly, he fights through tears and presses a fisted hand to his chest to try and overcome the ache there.
He remembers.