prompts.

He was growing tired, so tired.

The world is ticking by slow, a snail’s pace that begins to grow as an irritant under his skin.

The past still haunts him, still clouds his mind even to this day. 

The fires dance in his mind, lap against his skin in phantom sensations that cause his lungs to stutter air, oxygen temporarily slipping his entire body. It’s like he can’t breathe, limbs locking up before they release after what feels like an eternity, and he trembles, breathing it out loud and hard. 

Monsters are nothing compared to the trauma that litters his mind from his own past.

For a moment, Rorschach is trembling, his breaths hiccupping past his teeth and his head spinning. Everything around him makes him weak at the knees, and he has to stagger to the side a moment. Blackness yawns in his mind, opening up to a ravaging fire that he remembers barely escaping.

Too many people were screaming, fleeing left and right. The building around him crumbles, dropping flaming pillars of wood and lapis lazuli, spraying shards of blue and splinters into the air around him. His skin stings, torn open in several places and singed in others. It stinks, his nose burns. The world is spinning and smoke clogs his throat and stings with every breath. He can't bring his head down low enough, he can only run blindly through the burning building, until he's slamming into a door. Over and over, he hits the door, until it gives, the latch snapping as it springs open. He spills into the street, struggling to breathe and staggering to his feet again. The world around him is burning, it isn't just his quarters. His oracle den. Oh no, it's the entire city, enough that the sky is orange and the air is nothing but crackling flames and screams from denizens running, trying to find one another. The city is falling, flaming attacks slamming into the walls that would have protected them, if only he hadn't been the one to reveal the culprit. But he had asked, said the phrase that triggered his magic. But this was on him, this was on Rorschach. The kingdom would fall from this, and all he can do is scream his lungs out, raw and aching, until he's staggering up and running. Fleeing as fast as he can.

Rorschach jerks back to reality, his head snapping to one side from the twitch of muscles, and he breathes out hard. The flames are nothing but cinders in his mind, flickering, triggered by thoughts of the most recent monster. He hadn't even gone to see it, but the rumors had spread so quickly. Pyre of the north.

The Pyre hadn't been the only one, either. Oh no, there had been others, and they would only keep coming, wouldn't they? This land was littered with actual monsters, not just twisted little individuals with horrifying abilities. But maybe, just maybe, Ror could use this to his own advantage. Monsters could become an opportunity here, and maybe he could find himself crawling into the belly of one to finally rest. Or maybe he could just go and fight them, do what he was supposed to do. Mages protected, and he simply cowered in his hut and kept to himself. 

He draws in slowly, resting on a creaking wall of his hut as his head leans back and he tries to think. 

Maybe next time, he'll use the next monster to his advantage. They would keep coming, so what was the point in trying to point fingers? No, this is just another opportunity coming up. Something he can use to his advantage. Maybe he'll learn to use his magic more, or gain some sort of strength. He could do something next time.. right?