Date: 2023-11-02 02:07 pm (UTC)
theotherright: (aren't you tired of blood?)
Arthur's hand trembles around the tissues, and he jabs them roughly at his face as he shakes his head. The rest of him is trembling too.

"Please, I-I have to." His voice rasps. "Ossie, I hurt people there."

Faust, most obviously. John, most unforgivably.

"For a month we survived on odd bits, a leg of something or a hoof of something else, or- or whatever they saw fit to throw us. I was-- I-I had a friend there, but not... physically there, and... and not always friendly." God this needs so much context. "For a month we were on our own. Then one day they threw in another man. A-an older man, with nothing except the clothes on his back and a braided cord that was always in his hand. He said they'd caught him trying to escape. And I thought- I-I wanted to believe that the world ran on some sort of rules. Maybe they had to dig him a deeper pit and we would be cell-mates till then, o-or something. Until a few days later, when I realised they had stopped feeding us."

He has to stop momentarily, remembering at last to breathe.
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Oswald Wuthridge

June 2022

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