It must be precise. any aspect of error can determine the rest of his mortal days, the clicking of the lock and the shuffle echo as he ventured down the hall. One miscalculation and he'd be as good as dead. But he'd rather be dead than spend another second in this living hell, fuck, imagining taking his own life had become a part of his daily routine if it weren't for the rumors he heard, he could almost guarantee he'd be dead by now.
he could almost taste freedom as his hands burned from sliding down the makeshift rope he made from his bedsheet. the burns, to him, symbolize his own decision, the first true decision he's ever made. ducking and weaving through the wilds of tall grass that he had overlooked for centuries freedom seemed absolute. His throat tightened, tattoo burning, his mind foggy except to seize his goal, his destiny. As he crosses the gates a wave of fear washes over him, and his mind races with possibilities. Human nature has its cruel tricks, he resented his father but he doesn't know a life without him, doesn't know a life beyond the gates, doesn't know a life without-
A sudden growl erupted from the shadows, shackled by a collar a single dog sang a symphony of howls, seemingly pleading with their owner to wake and do their job. He could sympathize, as he too felt as if he was a beast on a leash, but he couldn't ponder anymore as the animal's master listened to their pleas. Soon he was running through the woods, groups of men not far behind, voices behind him indicated a pack of them but there was no room to think. Only to run. Faster and faster he ran, vomit trying its best to escape churns in his throat. Blood trickles down his face as a sharp branch slashes his cheek, the pain from the cut is nothing compared to the pain he has endured over the years. The mere thought of it made his tattoo burn hotter, it matched the feeling of his determination.
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His feet began to tire, his throat had lost its fight and now his vomit was treating itself to the luxury of his shirt. But nothing could break his steadfast, nothing could break his determination. Or so he thought. An arrow flies past him. An arrow. To others this was an attempt on his life, to him, this was a message from his father, he could read it loud and clear, "I would rather you die than you show the world your true colors, I'd rather you perish than let you be yourself." The words may seem harsh but he can picture in his mind his father saying them, he knew they were true.
As he rushes the woods become more narrow until a clearing reveals itself. And, much to his unexpecting so did a cliff. A quick peek revealed a raging river, the drop would end him. If not his lacking ability to swim would finish him off. He whips his head around, refusing to lose a second, but the voices draw near and the light from their lanterns beam bright. The words he merely thought about echo through his head once more "he'd rather be dead than spend another second in this living hell."
The air felt like the cold kiss of death, the water's friendship with Jack Frost filled his body as he gasped for air. The night is dark, but his eyes go darker. His body chills. But his tattoo burns.