"For he, the helpless one"
Jan. 8th, 2022 06:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ryuserevThreads coming together, as someone watches them fold. Lifeless and careless touches aproach that someone, who seems reluctant, but helpless against what would appear to be inevitable. Getting some sense into him, he could just undo them; once he does so, those mere threads that were getting thicker wouldn't make as a menace anymore, after all. However, as this someone remains still, threads start unfolding themselves and then, they start elegantly tearing apart from each other. As thin as you wouldn't notice if it was one alone, a single thread slightly joins another into wrapping around the slender, powerless figure.
Silent gasps; mouth open yet no sounds come out. When they are many, to the point where they feel like chains, a way out was hardly possible. Breathless, when they tangle around their neck. After so long, a nervous was hit. The realization of the problem, after it became dangerous, suddenly hit. A hoarse scream, barely audible, was shouted. Tensing his feet, tensing his hands, his arm and his body as a whole, wanting to escape. He could have done so sooner, when those threads weren't a threat, but rather harmless beings who gave him an opportunity to avoid this situation. He could have undone them, at first, for those threads were folding themselves, the power to undo them within his grasp. Why, then, did he stay still until it got unbearable, until they got around him, until he couldn't do anything.
The problem, not a hard one to solve, just got bigger and bigger as he didn't do anything. No one else more than him was to blame, yet was that clear to him, whose despaired face was as if he was drowning in an inevitable struggle, as if fate decided to make him endure such agony out of malice?
An answer was, maybe, nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be found, for he truly believed it. For he, the helpless one.
Silent gasps; mouth open yet no sounds come out. When they are many, to the point where they feel like chains, a way out was hardly possible. Breathless, when they tangle around their neck. After so long, a nervous was hit. The realization of the problem, after it became dangerous, suddenly hit. A hoarse scream, barely audible, was shouted. Tensing his feet, tensing his hands, his arm and his body as a whole, wanting to escape. He could have done so sooner, when those threads weren't a threat, but rather harmless beings who gave him an opportunity to avoid this situation. He could have undone them, at first, for those threads were folding themselves, the power to undo them within his grasp. Why, then, did he stay still until it got unbearable, until they got around him, until he couldn't do anything.
The problem, not a hard one to solve, just got bigger and bigger as he didn't do anything. No one else more than him was to blame, yet was that clear to him, whose despaired face was as if he was drowning in an inevitable struggle, as if fate decided to make him endure such agony out of malice?
An answer was, maybe, nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be found, for he truly believed it. For he, the helpless one.
