Drabble: Feelings
One's feelings toward feelings.
Something I wrote for the morning. Minimal editing, written in under an hour.
Author's Notes
I can't format it the way that I prefer to on my phone, so I'll probably come back to this later.
He always tried to note how things felt as little as possible. The feeling of rolling out of bed in the morning did nothing but make him rue the day. The feeling of brushing his teeth always reminded him how much he hates mint, but gave up searching for other toothpastes that don't taste awful. How it felt to put on his boots and undo the locks on his door to start his day. To walk down the crowded sidewalk filled with every body in this city trying to get to work while he only wanted a coffee, feeling all the eyes on him as his head poked out from over the crowd. To feel the hours pass as he studied and dug for a client, to feel his blood boil at their impatience for more when they contacted him only yesterday.
To feel the cold air as he finally stepped outside for the first time in hours. The faint resistance of dry leaves crunching under his boot as he quietly walked through the park. The biting chill of breathing in to take in the scent of autumn that made him feel...something. Something he did not want to name.
The feeling of his heart jump at rushed footsteps. The feeling of something sinking into his stomach as he turned around. The feeling of a body so close to him and the warmth of blood seeping from around the blade thrust into him. The feeling of hate swelling in his throat as their eyes met, finding a satisfied smirk on a face he had never seen before.
Sometimes, the feelings would remind him of home. Usually, feelings were only distractions for him.
As the stranger wretched the knife from his stomach and ran, making his mark and leaving him on his knees, feeling hot blood between the cracks of his fingers pressed to a wound surging with pain, he was reminded how they were all rarely more than a bother. Even now.
This would heal in some minutes. Then he would get up, clean up the blood, and go home. To wash out the stains, stitch the tears, wash himself, and get back to work.
It all slowed him down and little more, at the end of it all. Distractions in the form of pains, sensations, and flickers of memories triggered from smells, sounds, and the common experience of being in a body with nerves and needs. Nerves he worked to ignore as to get on with his day, needs like a warped image of what should be, but isn't quite right.
Regardless. Thoughts for later. Feelings for another, undetermined time. For now, he had to think about food. The blood loss will make him ravenous later. It always does.