Tʜᴇ Pᴀᴛʜ Tᴏ Hɪɢʜɢᴀᴛᴇs

Tʜᴇ Lᴏᴠᴇ Oғ Aʟʟ Mʏ Lɪᴠᴇs

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 38

Sometimes we like to amuse ourselves before God laughs.

When we pace back and forth, flinging bottles at walls and drumming pens against paper. When we speak before we feel inclined to, ending a note flat, speaking without virtue. When we watch every drip of a tap flow down the drain, the power of termination between blood and bone, yet we waste and waste— simple pleasures of entertainment over sense. Intuitive souls before pensive minds.

Sometimes God laughs before we get the chance to amuse ourselves.

When time stood still— a cramped leg unable to tap the fugacious seconds. When anxiety was high and breathable. A heart leached with blood pounding in ears and roaring against its cage of hardened bone. When you sit alone and irked, every movement making your skin crawl and every sound making your blood cold.

When you sat there. At the round table in his office, an odd drink in hand, watching him do some kind of paperwork, his head bowed and ignoring you.

God was laughing now. You felt no amusement.

The air was as silent as him. He chose not to say a word as you had entered the room. You had sat yourself down, no warm welcome to ensue.

He spared no glance towards your figure as he rose, placing a pre-made drink on the table before you. It looked like water, yet bubbled like Sprite.

For the past few minutes, you had been sipping on it, subtly staring at the Empire, who still paid no mind to your presence. 

His head was low, his attention preoccupied with a thin sheet of paper, his hands continuously scribing incoherent babbling. You had no mind to guess what he was doing. All you had was the drink he had given abruptly and the sound of scratching as his pen glided across the coarse sheet.

You took another sip, your head lurched, almost falling, plummeting through itself.

You placed the drink down haphazardly, resting your head in your hand, wiping your eyes with your fingertips. Your head spun, phosphenes sparkled through your eyelids. A breath fell from your lips.

You suddenly felt a little less on edge. 

German Empire finally looked up, eyes meeting your slumped figure. He gently snapped his pen down.

"Vat did vu do today?" His voice bellowed from across the room, drawing your head from your hands, revealing your red cheeks and dark eye-bags. The tenseness of your throat spasmed as you spoke. "I spent time with Reich—"

"Vat do vu zink vu are doing?"

Your heart stopped. Your soul lurched from your body, the air puffing past your arms suffocated your throat with its smoke-laced breath. A chill filled the room. You stared aimlessly into his empty eyes. "What do you mean?"

The Monarch placed his hands on his desk, then rose from where he sat.

Your stomach growled, you felt a bout of dizziness spill into your head. Your mouth lolled open, your breathing manual. You could hardly move as the Empire dragged the closest chair beside you, then sat down slowly. His eyes remaining entirely on yours.

Your vision began to blot, you could hardly feel your own skin. Yet you still felt the Empire lay a hand on your back. His body leaning forward to keep eye contact. Though he knew your sight was waning.

"Tell me, (𝚈/𝙽), vo do vu zink vu are fooling?" He muttered, pressing his knee against yours, as if believing it would bring you back to the reality he didn't want you to see. "Myself." Was all you could mumble as a reply.