This page? This page was the worst. Q_Q Like, I am a cold and emotionless sadist when it comes to comics. Sometimes I chuckle a little, or when Tuuri got injured I kind of got a little worried then just moved on to the next thing in my life. Yeah, I'm the kind of coldhearted persion who didn't cry from a story since watching Lassie. THIS page? It's the first time I've been seriously unsettled by god damned freaking comic page.
And then in the stillness, the creature who were once many remembered.
It remembered the waiting, that had never ended. The hope that had flickered out over the course of what felt like lifetimes, and the rotting of the world that told it that nothing, and no one were left to help them.
But the worst thing was the images. The old ones. From before. They flickered like bats under streetlights, there in an instant and gone the next - images of loved faces, of whom they once were and of the sun, the precious, precious sunlight. They had covered them with fear and contempt, and with anger. There had been so much anger. Anger was good - it had distracted from the anguish. But all of that had been seared away, by harsh fire, by the sun that forced them to SEE, what they had tried their damnest to forget. They felt the crushed hope in their hearts again, and reached - feebly, desperately - for the ghostly images that re-surfaced, as if they could somehow re-claim that old life without the pain.
And a faint realization whispered in the back of their minds. Yes, they had followed the living out of hunger. The hunger was good - it distracted from the anguish. But they realized, in the midst of their remembering, that there had been a flicker of hope. The one with the braid. And the stealthy one. They reminded them of something intangible, something Beyond, something that should have been their birthright. Was it peace? They didn't know, and that had made it worse.
The fire had burned away all the good things. The anger and the hunger. Even the fear. And there was only the anguish, at bottomless as the night.
A faint static cracked the air. Once, it would have been a voice, and it slashed through the silence. It clicked for a moment. Before they remembered words. They spoke to the darkness, and the void. Called out to mothers and fathers, spouses, friends, even the faint recognition of themselves, to whomever appeared in the silvers they remembered. They spoke to a God that had forsaken them all.
".... help. Help me. Is there anybody there. "
