#/ so loved he was that his peers risked their own lives to recover his corpse so he could get a proper burial

[perfect-fourth]

𝆺𝅥 One. Two. Three. Four.

Submerged underwater, everything above him melted away into a meaningless echoed distortion.  It wavered and whispered hints of a world that didn't matter in those moments, a world that for the briefest time, was disconnected from the man beneath the surface. He could hear his own heart pulsing in his ears, a steady and rhythmic percussion. A drum beat.

Five, six, seven, eight.

Khada Jhin had always had an affinity for the water, before he'd even known who Khada Jhin was. Perhaps it was in the way it made him feel; the weightlessness and comfort of being swallowed by something so amorphous and unpredictable and great. Cradled by the arms of the sea, he felt infinitesimally small, and yet he chased that sensation with all the unbridled recklessness of any youth who had yet to grasp the concept of mortality, swimming further and further away from the coast until he saw only the suggestion of land in the distance. He imagined the ocean was the sky, and he was a solitary star, a blinding flicker drifting in the reflection of the endless cosmos. It was a game for him back then, to see how far he could go, how deep before the currents pushed him back to shore. That was, until the day they didn't.

Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine. Forty.

The waters were calmer than usual, and when he'd gone out, he felt confident in his ignorance. How far could he go? He saw in the far, far distance, a small island of rock. It was a goal he set for himself every time he escaped to this patch of beach, and one that he felt in his gut he could reach that day. He was well rested, and for the first time in ages(at least, from the perspective of someone who'd only lived 11 years), father had let him skip out on his training. It was the new year, after all, and it brought with it many superstitions that the boy was happy to exploit on behalf of his Old World father. He was untouchable on that day, he could do as he wished so long as it didn't provoke any nasty spirits or bring any bad luck onto their family, as small as it was.

Fifty-three.  Fifty-four.  Fifty-five.  Fifty-six.

He'd begun to regret this decision when his arms grew weighty in the tepid waves.  Still, he was closer to his rocky destination than he was to the shore.  Perhaps if he could reach it he could rest there for a time before making the long swim back to land.  

Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty.

The riptide caught him 30 feet or so from his objective.  He’d already been close to his limit before then, but the sudden shift in the waters’ motion caught him off guard, and brought him under in the struggle to fight against it.  The panic that set in ignited his tired limbs, but his efforts were fruitless against the pull of the water.  He swallowed some, choked on it and warbled about until exhaustion overrode panic and he stopped battling against the flow of the current.  

  Sixty-nine.  Seventy.  Seventy-one.  Seventy-two.

When his eyes opened beneath the water, he caught sight of something pale and blurry through the heaviness of his own oxygen-deprived lungs.  As the waves pulled him closer, his mind recognized the outline through the sapphire haze: a hand, a human hand, slender fingers that glimmered with gold and jewels and beckoned him to breech the distance that threatened to sacrifice him to the arms of the sea for as long as time would grant.  When his hands both latched hold to the one in the water, he felt no effort made to pull him up.  All he felt was cold skin beneath his fingers that seemed to slip against his grasp off a mannequin-stiff limb.  There was no room for shock until after he’d used the last vestiges of life left in his sore muscles to yank himself up onto the sharp rocky islet.   

Seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six.

It was the first time he’d seen a corpse up close; let alone touched one.  He choked and vomited on the salty waters that had found their way into his belly, and on the stench of the body that fluttered beside him.  She was half submerged, but anchored to the islet by a particularly jagged stone.  Had he seen such a sight in his latter years, he would have been able to identify approximately how long she’d been dead for; her age, her status in life.  But back then, he could only ponder the possibilities of these things while he sat with her in desolate exhaustion, still recovering the air in his lungs as best he could through fits of gagging.

Seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty.    

There was no choice, really.  He had to stay there, at least for awhile.  He couldn’t very well make the swim back to shore right away, at best one of the local fishermen would spot him and come grab him up before he had to try.  It was something he lost faith in after a few hours of waiting, when the sun started to go down.  The way it glimmered on her wet, marble-veined skin looked ethereal to him, in a way.

Eighty-one.  Eighty-two.  Eighty-three.  Eighty-four.

It took him much less time than he thought it would to settle himself from the overwhelming panic.  The panic of nearly drowning, the panic of finding himself subsequently stranded in the middle of the ocean with a rotting corpse, the panic of how much trouble he was going to be in when and if he got home-- it was all pretty inconsequential once the light of the first star peaked across the deep blues and purples of twilight.  It would be unwise to try and swim back now, and he knew that.  As much as he’d tried to gather his strength, even in the warmth of day he would have been a fool to try and risk it.  He was already cold, and wet, and his hands and knees were bloodied from the stones he sat on.  They looked much more comfortable from afar.

Eighty-five.  Eighty-six.  Eighty-seven.  Eighty-eight.

Eventually he no longer felt disgust, and he’d grown accustom to the smell that lingered(though perhaps it might have been the chill of nighttime numbing his senses).  Curled into himself, he watched her when he could no longer peer at the coastline without feeling his stomach tumble.  There was a strange sort of beauty to it, to death; to see what his fate might be if he was to die there.  He didn’t know what had killed her, but he knew what he saw.  Her flesh was a glimmering array of pinks and yellows and off-whites, swollen and splitting where it could no longer keep itself from blossoming open.  Deeper marks and gashes marred what was made visible beneath the tattering of her robes, fine emerald silks stained and open beneath the weight of something much more violent than the ocean, something that had intentionally torn into her flesh to showcase the tissue beneath.

Eighty-nine, ninety.  Ninety-one.  Ninety-two.     

He remembered staring for hours at one particular wound, on her right thigh.  It wasn’t as vicious as some of the others, but it had been effective enough to slice through the first few layers of flesh and reveal the fat beneath.  The blood had long since washed away to reveal true color, and with the crabs and insects that had begun to try and pick away at meat beyond the constantly shifting layers of fabric, he couldn’t help but to think it resembled the hive of a bee.  Wouldn’t it have been nice, if people bled honey instead?  Wouldn’t it have been nice?  Wouldn’t it be nice, wouldn’t it be lovely?

Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine.  One hundred.

The musician gasped for air as he rose gracelessly from the calm surface of his bath.  Disrupted by his movements, the gently scented waters splashed across the paneling that surrounded it and put out two candles in its wake.  He’d lasted longer last time, but he hadn’t anticipated where his mind would wander that night, either.  It was a bit jarring, as it had been so long since he’d recalled that memory-- or, any memory from that time, really.  It felt distant to him, and he liked it that way.  He wasn’t that boy anymore, or that person; he wasn’t trapped, and yet inspiration was something he could still draw from him.  He thanked him for that, eyes settling on one of the uncooperative candles that lay on the ledge of his bath.  

When he could breath properly again, he snubbed the other 2 out with his dampened fingertips and a sigh.

[wannabespaceman]

Hey friends, it's Finally here!!! My second Short story appellee titled Skyline. This is a short adlib between good and evil, for a little more flare and fun while reading you can take the roles of the Malicious Dr. VonKreigur and our spiteful hero Caster. Please add your own twist to the voice in which you use to read their parts, it will only make things more lively in your mind. Without further ado… here's Skyline

"You, PITIFUL FOOL!!" Dr. VonKreigur screams as he kicks the tormented body of his foe into the corner of the rooftop. "We've been going at this for quite some time now son" - "You're not my father!!" the young hero spits out with a small puddle of blood behind his words. "You share his DNA, I split you from him so he wouldn't OPPOSE ME ANYMORE - and yet - here you are." Dr. VonKreigur slowly strides towards his prey, stalking the injured hero's movements. "They all used to look up to you - the cattle of this city you swore to protect." His stride carries him to the edge of the sky scrape, ignoring the battered corpse of the hero. "City lights and skylines guiding home their wandering minds - sheltering them from fear - from anguish and hate. I would hate for the cattle to see you laying her beaten and broken… much like this." He rips off the broken respirator from his face and tosses it below as he peers out into the dusk.

"And here - I thought - that was just meant for looks Kreigur." Caster laughs as he stammers to his feet. "Just because I have his DNA doesn't mean I'll ever. call. you. Father!" he rushes Dr. VonKreigur trying to topple him from his new throne. "Pitiful" - with a quick sidestep Caster takes a knee to his stomach, blood erupts from his mouth covering the floor with a thick maroon hue. Caster once again drops to his knees gasping for air, with little time to recover Dr. VonKreigur kicks the young hero just hard enough to flip him into his back - pairing it with a ruthless stomp to the chest of Caster. He screams as the weight of his boot cracks through some of his ribs, "heh, it's just a rib or two - you don't need the protection." Dr. VonKreigur smirks while his eyes trace what is left unbroken on this tattered soul. He proceeds to add pressure to the fresh wound just for added pleasure of causing the pain, in doing so Caster coughs up more blood splattering on the leg of his adversary.

"Sorry about that, I seemed to have ruined your shoes - maybe I can get you a new pair la..." Once again Caster is flung across the roof landing dangerously close to the edge, leaving behind an easily traceable blood splatter along the surface. "And to think - I thought I spliced that out of you - your humor will apparently be something you take to the grave" Dr. VonKreigur replies as his demeanor shifts to a more threatening tone. "That laugh - so - infectious - so - disgusting. To think pairing that with your shitty grins you managed to fool these people into trusting you. But not me, I know the real you - THE HATEFUL, ANGRY, ENVIOUS VERSION OF YOU WHO STANDS HERE BEFORE ME. Not this, caring, fool hearted, naive soul - that you tricked them into loving." Dr. VonKreigur begins to encroach the beaten down body of what once was a hero, "it occurs to me that I guess two of you may have been more of a problem then I hoped - looks like the only choice I have... is to make you whole again." Dr. VonKreigur reaches down and lifts the young hero by the chest of his shirt, holding him steady over the edge of the skyscraper with only one hand. He points "You put your trust in them, and risked your life to protect them - and here you are - alone. No one to help you, and no one to save you." Caster smirks and spits at his lifeline "that's just the role of the hero - always being there to help no matter the circumstances and never looking for anything in return. He taught me that." "Yes of course he did - the true hero. Look how his heroics left him - split personalities and a hole in his chest" Dr. VonKreigur rebuttals as he tightens his grip while the wind catches the two parallel bodies. The Sun slowly begins to sink setting the sky a blaze with an aurora of bright pinks and fiery orange shades. Caster catches the reflection in the glasses of the Doctor as his smirk fades and eyes sharpen on his nemesis. " I may have been but a short stain on this world but I'M NOT LETTING YOU CURSE THIS PLAIN WITH YOUR EXISTENCE!!" Caster screams as he tries to thrust his legs around the doctors arm with hopes to weigh them both down. "Hmph, pitiful" Dr. VonKreigur lightly whispers as he thrust a small black handled blade deep into the chest of Caster. "Just like the hero before you son - this is where your story... ends." The blood slowly starts to envelope the shirt of Caster as the Doctor leaves the knife in the fresh corpse. Dr. VonKreigur monologues as he lets go of the hero "yes - your predecessor actually met a similar demise, minus the fall - you too will be buried with the same blade I used to end him." As the doctor turns and walks away he begins to slowly take off his glove turning it inside out with each step farther from the edge, "maybe this time - things will go - a little smoother.''

Thank you everyone for the read! This is my second installation on my journey to write a children's book. I'm joking, but a journey nonetheless to tease the mind of the reader and force to end the stigma of a Happy ending and leave you wanting more!!

Who was the Son of the Doctor mentioned throughout this short story?

What made me write off what seemed to be "the hero of the people"??

How did I come up with the idea of this short little quip???

As always I would like to give credit and thanks to the band in which I Incorporated is there lyrics from I by no means own the rights to any of the lyrics I use in my writing again thank you era the song is beautiful I definitely recommend you guys go give skyline listen if you haven't heard it before.