Drabble

From Lavosbyssals

Smoke lay on the roof of a rather large mausoleum and stared at the sunset. Various ghosts (and a few of the still-living) had come and stared at him in the several hours he'd been laying there, but they all moved away rather quickly after seeing his face. Maybe it was the glare he was giving the sky. Maybe it was the caste mark. Eh.

He'd fucked up. He knew that. It shouldn't have been that hard to figure out. It probably wasn't, but he didn't want to think about it too hard. And that was the whole fucking problem, wasn't it?

It wasn't his problem to fix, either. Maybe it could've been, once but not the way things turned out. Not with how long he'd been ignorant. So what the hell could he do, then?

His attention was broken from his moping by a butterfly landing on his knee. It sat there, stretching its particolored wings, slowly moving them up... and down... and up... and down...

"You think I'm a branch, don'tcha?" Smoke spoke to the little thing. "I see. Maybe I should be. I'm no good at being the center of the fucking universe anymore."