Sorry this is posted so late. I've had this written but didn't post into the site. The prompt challenged me to write something starting with "the sun bows as pain vibrates," so here I go!
The sun bows as pain vibrates. It's a timid bow, but not as timid as the shaking of my form, the fear building inside when I think about deep this scar will be. My light, as I so often called her, is asking for the impossible. Can I make this promise to her? I vibrate again, heart palpitating with anxiety, knowing that here before me stands a choice. I read about this in my novels, and I hear about it in several songs, never expecting the cliché to actually reveal itself right before me, yet here she is, asking me to make a choice. I lose all feeling but the soft tingling in the tips of my finger. My vision is not compromised in the heat of the decision, but my heart is at least a little heavy. No, my heart is what is weighing me down, why I am on the floor rather than standing and looking her in the eyes. I hate this vulnerability, this weakness. I bow before her, when it is really her who is bowing to me, begging me, beseeching me. I am to be the knight of her heart, yet I can't even manage to speak. My tongue feels as if it may suffocate me, growing in size by the second. I am choking, coughing out warm crimson splotches, clinging to my red leather jacket, my hair surrounding both sides of face, the longer strands tickling my bare chest. I will leave. I will stay. It doesn't matter. I just have to look up. Look up! Now!
The pain vibrates again, taunting me, even laughing at me in loud chortles. I can't stand this. The revulsion is so strong I feel as all visceral elements of me are longing to be free of the exterior cage, as if my skin is the only thing holding them in place. Even my metaphors make me feel disgusted. I have my words, dressed in elegant clothing, but my light, my life, is gone. She asked the impossible, and I wouldn't stand up. She asked for me. For what I wouldn't allow myself to be, and I watched her bow to the ground, lower than she should ever be. I watched her sink to the level of scum, to the level of absolute degradation and shame, to a place that stained her wings so fiercely that I could see the tips begin to burn, gritting my teeth and looking away. My sun has bowed, and I am left to always see her, my fingers cupping her chin while the salty liquid of her greatest fear daringly caressing my finger, leaving bloody tracts as they fall.
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