post roba, before the 141
ghost sat. he just sat there. a shard of glass in hand, in his room that price had assigned him. he felt hollow. like someone had cut open his head and scooped out his brain. and his heart. was there. just there, serving no real purpose. it ached, beating dully.
the sound of the door opening startled ghost slightly into looking at whoever was entering. he swore he had locked the door - hadnt he learned his lesson by now? when he realized it was price, he slowly looked away and back at the glass in his hand.
price was silent for a moment before asking softly, "whats wrong?"
simon stayed quiet, then whispered hoarsely, "my hand hurts."
price snorted, gesturing to the piece of glass in his hand. "yeah, because you're holding a shard of glass."
"i know."
"so why dont you let it go?"
simons eyes strayed from the piece of glass to prices face, before turning to stare blankly in front of himself. "i dont know. ive had it for a long time."
price walked closer to ghost, yet still kept his distance. simon appreciated that. "why do you even have a shard of glass?" price mused.
simon hesitated. "...it used to something else before it broke," he paused, before adding quietly. "but now i dont know what to do, and im afraid of letting it go."
"the only way you'll feel better is if you let it go," price remarked softly. simon could feel the holes the man was staring into his head.
"i dont remember a time in my life where i didnt have it, and the pain of having it might be better than the pain of losing it," ghost responded, dipping his head to observe the glass. it had already cut into his hand, tiny drops of blood finding themselves leaving simons skin.
"if the shard of glass doesnt serve you and only causes you pain, its not worth holding onto, and the only way you can heal is if you let go." price said carefully, slowly coming to stand next to ghost.
"okay," ghost mumbled, dropping the shard. it clattered to the ground, the edges painted in red. the glass splintered at the sides.
"how do you feel?" price asked, raising a brow at the piece of glass on the floor before directing his attention back to ghost.
"weird," he grouched, then added, "and bad. and my hand is still bleeding."
price chuckled. "healing takes time. one day, you won't even remember you had a cut on your hand."
"what should i do with the glass?"
"leave it, its not your responsibility anymore."
simon paused, contemplating. "i know, but i feel bad about littering."
price smiled. "you're right, ill put it in the trash." he reached down to grab the glass, startling when simon interupted again.
"no, i'll do it." he said, as he picked the glass up again.
-
i hope u understood the hidden meaning to that
i also got this from something i saw but i wrote it in a ghost/price father/son relationship thing
the link for the original video where i found it is here !! (ignore that its a yt short, i get bored and scroll sometimes ,,, )
raaaaahjshsjdfs im going to go play dmz now !!!
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