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A drabble bc posting writing on this site is hella confusing
12 years ago
General
He was sweating. It had been a long time coming, and he was determined to see it with a level of dignity. That was before his teeth had begun to fall out, and his voice degraded to a heavy rasp.
Maybe the Courier had felt it, too. They had opened the doors, insisted that he stay inside with them when it finally happened. He had refused. No, this was something he had to be alone for.
He had watched his loved ones fade away before his very eyes. He wouldn’t let anyone else suffer that.
The door of the abandoned shack was locked. Painted on door was a warning, an accidental invitation to the next hapless adventurer.
DONT OPEN
He sat on the floor of his shack, holding his head as he snarled and shook. It had been a week. How long until his brain ceased, and instinct set in? His hands, bonier than he remembered, clawed at the rugged wooden floors.
He put his head down on the ground, his fast and shallow breath stirring up swirls of dust from the wooden grain. He tried to think. Thinking came so easily to him.
A figure in the Mojave sand, a glowing green light on their arm. Their name was… was…
No. He let out a snarl of frustration. He had to try something easier.
A beautiful woman, her hair like black silk. Her face so young, so full of life. Her name was…
Raul let out a scream of rage. Who was that woman??
The Ghoul practically dove onto a knife and stabbed the floor. Cutting and carving. He wouldn’t forget her. Not the angel that he had lost so long ago. He refused. He God damned refused.
As days past, the poor thing carved that name into the floor. He did it with the fluidity of routine. Clockwork. Just in case he started to forget.
Months past before the door to the shack was kicked open by a group of NCR soldiers.
The lone feral was disposed of quickly.
One of the soldiers moved to check the body, but his partner lifted a hand and pointed to the floor. He whispered one word.
Look.
The floor was covered. Not a single inch of the wooden planks were bare, and it was so full that the words overlapped. But they all said the same thing.
r a f a e l a
Maybe the Courier had felt it, too. They had opened the doors, insisted that he stay inside with them when it finally happened. He had refused. No, this was something he had to be alone for.
He had watched his loved ones fade away before his very eyes. He wouldn’t let anyone else suffer that.
The door of the abandoned shack was locked. Painted on door was a warning, an accidental invitation to the next hapless adventurer.
DONT OPEN
He sat on the floor of his shack, holding his head as he snarled and shook. It had been a week. How long until his brain ceased, and instinct set in? His hands, bonier than he remembered, clawed at the rugged wooden floors.
He put his head down on the ground, his fast and shallow breath stirring up swirls of dust from the wooden grain. He tried to think. Thinking came so easily to him.
A figure in the Mojave sand, a glowing green light on their arm. Their name was… was…
No. He let out a snarl of frustration. He had to try something easier.
A beautiful woman, her hair like black silk. Her face so young, so full of life. Her name was…
Raul let out a scream of rage. Who was that woman??
The Ghoul practically dove onto a knife and stabbed the floor. Cutting and carving. He wouldn’t forget her. Not the angel that he had lost so long ago. He refused. He God damned refused.
As days past, the poor thing carved that name into the floor. He did it with the fluidity of routine. Clockwork. Just in case he started to forget.
Months past before the door to the shack was kicked open by a group of NCR soldiers.
The lone feral was disposed of quickly.
One of the soldiers moved to check the body, but his partner lifted a hand and pointed to the floor. He whispered one word.
Look.
The floor was covered. Not a single inch of the wooden planks were bare, and it was so full that the words overlapped. But they all said the same thing.
r a f a e l a
