Art by fauxfawn
With Mask and Goggles
Art by booklover789
Without Mask and Goggles
Art by booklover789Username:booklover789
Partner:fauxfawnName:Bartók
Name Meaning:Hungarian version of "Bartholomew." "Bartholomew" means having many furrows or rich in land.Named After:Béla Bartók, the composer.Gender:Male
(Cisgender - Designated Male at Birth.)
Romantic and Sexual Orientation:Bartók isn't sure yet what his sexual orientation is, but he knows for sure he likes girls. He's just not sure he ever wants to date anyone at this point in life. He figures he'll know what he is when the time is right, so he's not stressing too much about it now.
Theme Songs:Unravel - BriCie and Narutimate77 (original by TK from Ling Tosite Sigure) and
FIRST - Kasane Teto's Cover (original by Lily) (
Rough English Translation)
Favorite Soundscape:Railroads (booklover789's Custom Preset)Brief Personality:Bartók is stubborn as a mule. Once he sets his mind to something, he never wavers in that belief. Once he gets an idea into his head, it's not easy to change his mind. Bartók is weak physically, but quite sharp mentally. Intelligent beyond his years, Bartók often converses on a level equal to that of a superior. Quiet by nature, Bartók is only chatty with those he is close to and those he trusts. Growing up in a harsh environment, Bartók is used to dealing with whatever life throws at him. While he was once a scared child, relying heavily on his older brother for help, he has matured in his few years to be able to care for himself...mostly. He still sometimes needs help with things, as much as he hates admitting it, but for nearly everything, he can fend for himself. Even if he desperately needs help, he'll never admit it. Bartók despises being looked down upon and being thought of as "weak" or "pitiful," so he'd rather shut up about a problem and let it progress until it must be taken care of rather than complain or speak up about it. He could be in the worst pain possible and never even admit it. He has a high pain tolerance, so very little truly hurts him physically. Emotionally, however, he is easily hurt. If someone hurts him with their words, he'll remember - word-for-word - the conversation and how that made him feel. He loves deeply and whole-heartedly. He wants nothing more than for he and his older brother to be happy in life. Loyal, he'd stick by a friend or family member's side until the very end...unless he thought it better for the individual if he were to leave. Bartók will often use methods deemed odd by others to get what he wants in life. He won't always think through a plan before executing it, so he can be a bit rash when it comes to decision-making...but no matter what the consequences are, he'll take them in stride. He rarely admits his mistakes, unless it's to someone he's close to, as he feels that saying he was wrong means that there's something wrong with him. Overall, you could hit him and it would hurt, but he'd get over it. If you were to sling some nasty words his way, however, he wouldn't be so quick to forgive. A loving and kind wolf, Bartók only wants the best for others and for himself. He'd sacrifice his happiness to see someone else have a good life, and has never minded having to give up the finer things in life so that he and his brother can survive.
Relationship with #1110:Bartók is very appreciative of his brother, Bertók...when he's not being his usual, overprotective self. Bar (pronounced like the pub) and Ber (pronounced like "burr"), as they're normally called by those that don't wish to mix them up, tend to hang around one another out of pure necessity. Because of Bartók's fragile health, Ber tends to be very protective of his younger sibling, never wishing any harm to come to him. In the beginning stages of Bartók's illness, they were extremely close, as the pup didn't mind Ber hanging around and sticking up for him. The elder sibling almost acted like a father to him - and seeing as they were both orphaned, this aspect made complete sense. With age, Bartók began to want to be more independent, and started to resent his brother's overprotective attitude towards him, often speaking up and telling his brother to butt out of his life. Bartók will always love his brother and will always look up to him, wishing that he could be as normal as his brother appears to be - but deep down inside, Bartók knows he's his own wolf, and he does not wish to be doted upon for the rest of his existence.
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How Stuff Works - Gas Mask wrote:Type of mask: full-face respirator
The problem with air-purifying respirators is that any leak in the mask makes them ineffective. The leak could come from a poor fit between the mask and the user's face, or from a crack or hole somewhere on the mask.
Two other types of respirator systems solve the leak problem. The supplied-air respirator uses the same sort of filter cartridge found in an air-purifying respirator. However, instead of placing the filter directly on the mask and requiring the user's lungs to suck air through it, the filter attaches to a battery-operated canister. The canister uses a fan to force air through the filter, and then the purified air runs through a hose to the mask. The advantage is that the air coming into the mask has positive pressure. Any leak in the mask causes purified air from the canister to escape, rather than allowing contaminated air from the environment to enter. Obviously, positive pressure creates a much safer system, but it has two disadvantages:
- If the batteries die, so do you.
- The constant air flow through the filter means that the filter does not last as long.
How does the filter remove poisonous chemicals and deadly bacteria from the air?
Any air filter can use one (or more) of three different techniques to purify air:
1. Particle filtration
2. Chemical absorption or adsorption
3. Chemical reaction to neutralize a chemical
The third technique involves chemical reactions. For example, during chlorine gas attacks in World War I, armies used masks containing chemicals designed to react with and neutralize the chlorine.
"Destruction by chemical reaction was adopted in some of the earliest protective equipment such as the 'hypo helmet' of 1915 (chlorine was removed by reaction with sodium thiosulfate) and in the British and German masks of 1916 (phosgene was removed by reaction with hexamethyltetramine)."
In industrial respirators, you can choose from a variety of filters depending on the chemical that you need to eliminate. The different filters are color coded by NIOSH standards for things like acids and ammonia.
Story:Part 2 - by booklover789Can someone tell me, someone tell me the way it has to be?
The doctor looked at the pup, his stiff older brother by his side. "Well, I've decided to fit you with a gas mask that will use a chemical reaction to neutralize the chemicals in our air that your body has been shown to not be able to process accordingly."
The small pup coughed, blood dribbling out of his mouth. His orange eyes were half-lidded, exhaustion clearly present on the little one's face.
The older wolf reached down and wiped it off of his brother with a tissue, giving the doctor a concerned look.
The doctor continued, doing his best to not make eye-contact with either of them. "This will be expensive, I'm afraid. You'll need to change the batteries on a normal schedule, but even more pertinent than that would be the filters for the system. If your batteries go out, you will have less than three hours to make it to a medical facility to get hooked up to a stabilizer, which will obviously help your situation until you can get new batteries. If one filter clogs, this will negatively affect the system, but will not damage it permanently so long as it is fixed within a short time frame."
"How long do we have to fix that?" the older wolf asked, fidgeting with the bandages on his paws.
"You'll have about four days to fix your gas mask if one filter clogs. If more than one clog up, you will need immediate medical attention. You should get to the hospital as soon as you possibly can if you should find yourself in that situation."
"What's cleaning them like? How do we do that if he can't breathe without them being in the gas mask?"
"You'll have a spare, which he can use while you clean out the other two. It's a rotating system - the gas mask can run perfectly fine on one filter, but it will run more efficiently with all three filters in place. For a short period of time - while you clean the other two - the gas mask will still function with one filter in place."
The older RPW nodded. "Okay."
"Should you get a leak, the young one here will know. In that case - "
"Get to a hospital ASAP," the older RPW said, interrupting. "We get it. If anything goes wrong, get our butts over here."
The doctor was slightly peeved at being interrupted, but shrugged it off. "Yes, that's correct. Any other questions?"
The older wolf looked down at the child in his arms, holding his brother close to his chest. He looked back up at the doctor, a determined glint in his eyes. "What's the soonest we can get a gas mask?"
Is anyone at all alive inside of me?
The breaking, always broken world we were born into the same...
You’re laughing all the time, but never see a thing.
Bartók yawned, stretching as he tilted his head. He checked the straps holding the gas mask to his head, and checked that the tank he'd wheel around for the rest of his life was full. Satisfied that he wasn't running low on pure oxygen, he smiled and trotted out. To get to the kitchen, he had to pass the old nursery - still in as pristine condition as ever. It was the one room that Bartók considered his truly safe place. It was the one area of the house without any dirt, dust, and grime, where, if he closed the door and stuffed something around the edges to block the holes from allowing the polluted air into the room, he could take off his mask and breathe naturally. The door to the nursery was always closed, and nearly always had something underneath the door to block the hole necessary for the door to swing open. When Bartók would want to go in, he'd obviously take a chance - when the door was open, polluted air would rush into the area. But when Bartók felt his loneliest, or needed time alone, he'd close the door and take that chance.
The light streaming into the kitchen was yellow, and Bartók had memorized his colors long ago - but because of the gas mask, he always saw things with a tint of green. The light didn't look yellow to Bartók - it looked like green and yellow mixed together...almost the shade of split pea soup. As he looked at his brother, he knew his fur was brown, just like his own - but to Bartók, his older brother's fur looked black. The pink scars appeared to be pale tan to Bartók, and he noticed them standing out against his brother's fur, three medium-sized scratches running down his flank. Bartók knew that his older brother had gotten them when he was just a pup, so he never knew why or how he had received them...and he was always too polite to ask.
It had been a few years since the initial doctor's visit, and he was getting used to dealing with his issue.
"Morning, Bar."
"Good morning, Ber." The younger pup sat at the table, observing his brother with a frying pan. "What're we eatin' today?"
"I found some bacon on discount at the store."
Bartók spoke without thinking, tiredness still forming clouds at the edges of his mind. "That's it?"
His brother's face became conflicted. "We don't have enough for rent this month, little bro."
He nodded. "Okay. Bacon it is."
The elder wolf smiled. "That's the spirit!" He forked over three pieces for his younger brother, keeping only two for himself. "Let's get eatin'! We've got a full day today."
Bartók could tell his brother wasn't happy. He always put on a front, though - Bartók thought that Ber might have thought that he was protecting the young one from life's miseries. Bartók didn't have the heart to tell him he could always see right through the mask he put on - though he doubted other wolves did, since they always complimented Ber on his smile. Bartók almost shook his head, lost in thought as he mechanically pulled down his gas mask and chewed on the old bacon. He wished they had an easier life, but knew that they were getting along just as well as they could. He appreciated how much his brother sacrificed to care for him. At times, Bartók thought he was just a burden to the elder one.
If only his brother would lighten up on him...
Perhaps then Bartók could really enjoy his life, instead of being worried that his older brother would swoop in and "protect" him from something he wanted to do. Perhaps then, Bartók could actually help his older brother instead of being at the mercy of the elder's whims, unable to do anything to fend for himself or even slightly help the older wolf.
I’m caving in, no I’ve been caved in, and hold my breath again...
Unraveling, truth on binding strings, won’t free me even yet.
Freeze!
They left to go to the fighting ring, or "club" as his older brother called it. Bartók, as always, stood by the side and watched Ber fight. Bartók never stepped a paw into the ring - he knew it was too dangerous for a small-fry like him. Ber was a skilled fighter, and Bartók knew this to be true...but he still couldn't help feeling a bit of resentment towards his older brother. He wanted to fight just like Ber - or, rather, he wanted to find something he loved in life just as much as Ber loved fighting. But, because of his brother's always-sensitive and protective outlook on life, Bartók sometimes felt as though he were a prisoner in his own home, cursed to never find something he'd truly enjoy.
The cold air blew onto Bartók, making him shiver. It was like an ice-chest in the building. Bartók understood why - the fighters were working and sweating. To them, this air felt good...while to anyone else, the air was far too cold for comfort. Bartók shifted his weight and moved over a little, hoping his new position wouldn't shove him under an air vent.
Ber noticed this right before the fight began, and he asked for a brief recess. His opponent slung some nasty words his way, but begrudgingly agreed, as he could find no rational argument against Ber's request. The referee didn't look to happy, but simply nodded, waving him off. Ber leaped down from the ring, slipped off his gloves and slung them around his neck. He took out the mouth-guard, letting it drip as it hung by his neck, dangling off of his helmet. He rummaged through the backpack he'd brought with him, pulling out a blue sweatshirt. "Here," he whispered as he slipped it over his brother's head.
Bartók was confused. After he finished straightening the sweatshirt, he looked up at the elder wolf. "Aren't they just gonna make fun of you for doing this? Why didn't you let me dig around and find it? I'm sure I would've been able to do it easily!"
Ber smiled down at his younger brother, ruffling the fur atop his head. "No worries," he murmured, just loud enough for Bartók to hear. "I don't care what they think. I'm a fighter - not a pansy." With that, he leapt back up to the ring.
The round had begun.
Unbreakable, I’m breaking down,
Unshakable, I’m shaking now,
You came to me, was lost and found.
Bartók wandered throughout the massive building, pulling his oxygen tank behind him as he always did on his treks about his little world. He looked around at the RPWs milling about or training to fight. He was very quiet by nature, and never really startled anyone because of his soft footfalls - he could've been a ninja, if it weren't for the heavy load he always bore.
Always careful not to bump into others, Bartók was very good about being stealthy. Most of the time, other wolves never even noticed him. If they heard a squeal of his wheels, however, every eye would turn to him, most to look away with shame or pity. Bartók hated the looks he got from others - he didn't want pity. He felt no shame. All he felt was frustration, and all he yearned for was freedom. He sadly reminded himself that he'd never be truly free - even if his brother lightened up on him, Bartók would always be stuck dragging around his life support. He remembered what Ber had drilled into him from a young age.
If those batteries die, so do you. One hole in the tank means you'll croak. One little slit in that mask means you're gone...forever.The bell rung, signalling the end of the round.
Bartók turned around and made his way back to the front of the building. He didn't see the leg jut out until it was too late, and he tripped over it. He crashed down to the ground, skinning his chin as he skidded along the harsh cement floor. He finally came to rest near one of the locker rooms, the oxygen tank clanking loudly to the ground beside him. The room spun, and Bartók couldn't tell if it was because he'd skidded so far or because he'd somehow turned the wrong way. He attempted to stand, struggling to get the room to still itself. He heard commotion behind him, and tried to pick himself up to look back. He felt so weak, his knees continually giving out as he tried his hardest to put weight gently upon them. His breath was coming out forcefully. He gasped at the oxygen flooding his mask. He could feel his heart pounding, and knew that if he didn't stand soon, his brother would have to haul him out of there, humiliating Bartók beyond repair. With this thought urging him on, he finally managed to scoot himself around so he was looking where he'd just walked. What he saw gave him such a shock that he was able to easily leap to his paws, adrenaline coursing through his tired body.
Ber was there, pounding the snot out of another wolf he didn't recognize. The look on his face was frightening.
Bartók picked up his oxygen tank, checking it for any leaks or abrasions. Seeing there were none, he reached his paws around to his strap, making sure it was still positioned where it needed to be. His paws were shaking. He sighed.
Looks like the adrenaline's kicked in now. It won't last long, though. I need to finish this check-up before I collapse. He then checked his mask, feeling for any holes or scratches. Finding none, he literally breathed a sigh of relief, the gas mask fogging up from his breath. His body swayed, threatening to fall once again. He caught himself unsteadily, breathing heavily, his sides heaving and his head pounding as if an anvil were being dropped upon it repeatedly. Once his vision cleared and the pounding in his head subsided, he observed Ber hit one final blow, knocking the other wolf out cold.
He panted with exertion, turning his attention then to Bartók. "You okay, little bro?"
Bartók nodded wordlessly.
Ber turned with a sneer to the wolf lying at his paws. "This jerk tried to hurt you." His look was venomous. "He won't be doing anything anytime soon."
Bartók nodded again, grabbed his oxygen tank, and started walking for the door.
Ber followed close behind. "Wait a minute, bro - I have to clock out."
Bartók paused by the door, knowing that if he walked too far ahead his brother would have a hissy-fit, and in his current frame of mind, that wasn't safe for anyone. Bartók remembered the only other time he'd seen his brother this angry. A few years ago, Bartók remembered his brother getting mad at someone who was staring at his oxygen tank and mask. Bartók remembered the laughing wolf, pointing and mocking him. He almost flinched as he remembered the punch Ber had given the wolf, shutting him up instantly. For the rest of the day Ber had been in a bad mood - but once they got home safely, groceries in-paw, Ber was back to his normal self. After that, Bartók remembered, his older brother had been just the slightest bit more protective...not that Bartók blamed him. The younger understood the elder's actions - and while he may have resented some of them, he did know his brother knew what was best for him in most situations.
Ber held his card under the stamp and pulled the lever, effectively clocking out. He pulled back, seeing another dot on the date, blowing it to make sure the stub had completely left the cardboard. He picked up a sticky note and quickly wrote an explanation for why there was a wolf who seemed to be sleeping in one of the back rooms, stuck it to his clock-out card, and left it on the table with everyone else's cards. He then trotted back to his younger brother. "C'mon - we need to get outta here."
Bartók nodded. "Where are we going?"
"Shopping."
"But...we don't have enough money, Ber."
"Do I look like I care?" he growled, protectively putting a paw on his brother's shoulder. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Besides, if we can't afford it, I'll do what I've always done." He sighed as he rubbed a paw across his face. "Let's just get outta here."
Bartók silently walked beside his brother, suddenly understanding everything that had happened in his life. He put two-and-two together, an epiphany bursting from within his mind.
My older brother is willing to do anything for me. He...he loves me. He almost smiled, finally comprehending why his brother never seemed pleased.
He's done everything for me. He's sacrificed even his happiness for me. How...how can I ever repay him for his kindness?Part 3 is in fauxfawn's form, here.Part 4 - by booklover789You’re making me open my eyes in twisted nightmares!
Watch every part of me fade, I’m not there...
Don’t follow me down, I don’t want to be found!
(So look away now.)
Controlling us and throwing us around but I’d sooner
Throw myself away than ever try to hurt you.
So, don’t you forget just who I really am!
So vivid, even now...
Bartók sobbed into a pillow - not that it mattered, as his mask blocked any snot or saliva from dripping out, and his goggles stopped up his tears. The pillow just felt nice on his fur, so he buried his head deeper into the plushness. His heart palpitated, and his breathing wasn't regular. He lost himself in thought, ignoring his medical condition that was worsening by the minute.
I don't care that Ber got us a TV. I don't want that stupid thing if it means he can't be home for at least a little bit of the time. I...I don't care about the books, or the food, even! I'd rather go hungry and be with him than feel so horrible not being able to ever see him! Why doesn't he understand that?!Suddenly, he got an idea.
Bartók slowly rose, sniffled up the majority of his snot and tears, and leapt off of the bed. Landing on the floor and re-positioning his oxygen tank carefully, he got down on his knees and crawled under his bed. Moments later his head popped out, in his paws a dusty-looking box that he used as a piggy bank. He opened it and counted everything out, realizing he'd saved up a lot over the past few months. With narrowed eyes, he took out all the money and folded it into a wad. He took that wad and used a rubber band to hold all the bills in place. Turning to his closet, he slowly opened, it, careful to not make too much noise. He didn't want Ber to know what he was up to. He took out his only piece of luggage, bright blue fabric glinting in the light coming from the moon. His windows were cracked, letting in the cold night air.
Bartók shook his head, concentrating on the task at paw. He carefully opened the suitcase and put in a sleeping bag, his pillow with an extra pillow case, his stuffed bunny, a thick sweatshirt, and his key to the house. He then crept to the kitchen, got the leftovers he'd made that he knew Bartok wouldn't eat, and grabbed an ice pack and a large baggie. He threw the ice pack and leftovers into the bag, sealed it tightly, and then stuck it into another bag for protection. He then took this back to his suitcase and plopped them into a different compartment. Remembering the water, he tiptoed back to the kitchen, grabbed as many water bottles as his small paws could carry, and took them back to his room, placing them beside the leftovers. He zipped the compartment shut.
There was one spot left.
What will I put in that pocket? Bartók thought to himself, tilting his head as he concentrated. Finally it dawned on him. "The money," he whispered, grabbing the wad and sticking it into the last available spot in the suitcase. He cautiously poked his head out of his door, noticing that Ber had gone downstairs to the gym. With a determined nod, he quietly rolled both the suitcase and his oxygen tank down the hall and to the front door. He set the luggage down for merely a moment, racing back to get a strong rope. Finding some in a cupboard where Ber had hidden it - he was worried that Bartók might try something stupid with it, and had no idea that the younger wolf knew where he'd hidden it after snooping around one day while Ber was gone at work - he grabbed it and tied the luggage to his oxygen tank, knowing that he'd easily be able to pull both behind him if they were connected.
He turned his gaze to the door. With narrowed eyes, he looked back only once before walking out. "If you won't listen to reason, brother, I'll show you using non-reason."
My never ending loneliness entangling a great abyss.
And I remember all the times I laughed away, now sit and cry.
Can't move at all, can’t let it fall...
You’re making me open my eyes in twisted nightmares...
Watch every part of me fade, I’m not there.
Don’t follow me down, I don’t want to be found!
(So look away now.)
It was a week later. Bartók had found a place to welcome him after he'd finished his leftovers and hadn't had any luck begging for scraps. He stubbornly refused to use the money - he knew he'd need that for medical problems later on. He'd finally found a place - the homeless shelter. He wasn't homeless, but as far as the owners were concerned, he was. They gave him a place to work and stay the night, and fed him twice a day. Once every four days they would give him a new book to read, and he'd devour the written words as quickly as he did the watery soup they gave him each night. He'd lost weight, but Bartók didn't mind - he was just hoping his brother would come to his senses soon, so he could leave and find him again. Bartók figured that he'd leave his brother waiting on him for another two weeks - a total of one month - and if his brother hadn't sought him out by then, Bartók would leave and try to find him by himself.
The next week was upon him in a flash. The days started blurring into one another. Bartók was starting to feel sluggish, wondering why he wasn't as energetic as he'd always been. His goggles were fogging up easier, but he just attributed that to his difficulty breathing. The air in the homeless shelter wasn't the cleanest, what with several wolves living under one roof and all. But, more than the sluggishness, Bartók started to emotionally feel drained. He wasn't even working that hard - he just stamped letters and mailed them every day. It wasn't tough labor at all, but was oddly the only position available to him. He'd expected to work harder, but perhaps the owners had pity on him, what with his medical conditions. He got paid in food, so he didn't complain. He didn't need any more money with a book to read every four days, food to eat each day, and a roof over his head.
Every night Bartók was awoken by nightmares. They started off pleasant, reminding him of his happy memories at home...but they'd soon delve to the dark side, twisting into things he never wanted to even speak of. When he'd awake each night, coughing and gasping for air, no one came to help him.
He started to miss his brother.
The third week started.
I know that I’ve changed now, but never change somehow.
When two become one more, when two become done for...
Unbreakable, I’m breaking down,
Unshakable, I’m shaking now.
You came to me but I can't touch you!
So don’t forget me,
You can’t forget me,
You won’t forget me,
PLEASE DON'T FORGET ME!
What was it, the fourth week now? Bartók didn't know. Every day was the same - wake up, stretch, yawn. Roll out of bed. Smack the wolf next to him until he woke up and used the single bathroom first. Use the restroom, wash the paws. Get to the kitchen before sunrise to get breakfast before the food was all gone. Eat an old biscuit with butter in less than two minutes. Go to work, stamping, addressing, and mailing letters. Sleepily walk back in for dinner before all the older wolves scarfed it down. Eat the watery vegetable soup - try not to gag. Go to the bed. Grab the rabbit. Slip on the sweatshirt. Fall asleep.
Rinse, Repeat.
Rinse, Repeat.
Rinse, Repeat.
Day in and day out this was how Bartók lived. He never knew what day it was - he only knew what had to be done. Depression started to weigh heavily on him, as if it were the dust that settled into his fur.
However many weeks had passed, Bartók wasn't sure. But one day, something out of the ordinary happened.
The homeless shelter got a visitor.
With changing inside I’m completely paralyzed,
Remaining corrupt as I wish for paradise.
The visitor was human. It was so odd, seeing one up close. Bartók had never seen one before.
The human was so big. As wide as it was tall, the ground shook whenever it took a step. (The wolves couldn't tell what gender it was, so they decided to just keep referring to it as, well, an "it.") It walked in and harshly picked up a few wolves, yanking them through the door. They yelped as they were dragged by their tails or ears, never to return to the threshold. The human glared at the rest of them and then left.
Bartók didn't sleep that night.
The next morning he was tired, feeling so drained that he forgot to wake up his roommate, who miraculously managed to wake up on his own. He raced past the younger wolf in a frantic frenzy to get to the food. Bartók didn't care - he wasn't hungry. He hadn't eaten breakfast for what he estimated was three days now - he didn't feel like he needed to. One meal a day was fine.
The human showed up again, and took a few more wolves.
Bartók knew he'd need to leave. He didn't want to go where the rest of the wolves were being taken to. He packed his things, ignoring his work for the only day that he'd been at the homeless shelter. He trotted into their office and thanked the owners of the shelter for giving him a place to stay and showing him a graciousness he never expected. He gave them half of his wad of money, remembering someone once telling him to pay back kindnesses shown to him. With one final warning to get out as soon as they could to protect not only themselves but the rest of the wolves who resided there, Bartók turned his back to them and padded off into the dirty streets.
I'm broken, lying helpless, shattered...
Surrounded by the world.
And yet, you're smiling bright...
Completely blind to life.
His breathing was ragged. He knew his air filter needed to be changed - he was starting to cough up blood again. The ratting in his chest kept him from getting a good night's sleep, as well. But...where was the hospital, again?
Bartók had spent too much time in the shelter. The outside world was so different, so...foreign. The crowds, the noise...everything about it screamed "STAY AWAY!"
Bartók didn't listen.
After wandering around in the blistering heat for a few days, he became frustrated. He couldn't find the hospital anywhere, and he started to feel tired. Bartók decided he'd give up for the day, thinking he may find the hospital easier at night - the bright lights from the building might have helped him to find it, after all.
He escaped from the crowded streets, taking alleys to a brick building. He curled up in a ball, his back against the rough material of the exterior wall. His oxygen tank whirred loudly beside him, working hard to pump the semi-clean air into his lungs.
His heartbeat slowed.
Finally, he thought.
Some peace and quiet.The isolation spreads and tears;
Those happy days, pierce into me.
These lonely memories cease to care,
They spread throughout my history.
He yawned. As he closed his eyes, he remembered Bertók clearly for the first time in what felt like months.
His tired head sunk to his paws.
Bertók was smiling, laughing as he spun his brother around. Bartók chortled, his mouth open in a wide, happy grin as peals of laughter rung in the air. Ber threw him up into the air, smiling as Bartók squealed with glee. Ber caught him moments later. He held the younger wolf close to his fluffy chest. The elder bent down and kissed Bartók on the head.
His ears lay flat against his skull, relaxed. He smiled.
Ber yelled at him, saying he wasn't willing to listen to what the pup had to say. He was older, and he knew best. He looked like he'd punch the younger one - but Bartók knew he'd never go that far...right?
His oxygen tank stopped whirring. His smile faded.
Shattering glass rained down upon the sink. Bartók, eyes filled with tears, stared at his brother. His gaze held an incredulous expression. "Why can't you just sit back and enjoy what we have for once?!" he yelled.
His breathing slowed even further. The rattling in his chest became less pronounced.
He walked out the door. "If you won't listen to reason, brother, I'll show you using non-reason."
His oxygen mask clouded with his soft exhale. The condensation faded.
Bartók and Bertók spun in a circle, both joined at the paws and laughing. They spun, round and round and round and round...over and over and over and over and over...again...again...again...
Light surrounded them, streaming in from the open windows. The particles floating in the air didn't bother them. Bartók and Bertók landed on the plush pillows underneath them. Their world spun, and they chortled, hearts full of nothing but happiness. They stared up at the ceiling, laughing as they pointed out the billions of "stars" - dust particles - they saw flying through the air.
Bartók didn't have his mask. His eyes worked perfectly. His heart didn't hurt. His breathing was normal.
Bertók didn't have his scars. His teeth were straight. His eyes were bright. His heart was filled with love.
He breathed in.
Bartók stared up at his brother and smiled. The bars of the crib were white and stark against the dark of morning. He reached his paws up to the elder wolf.
“What are you doing awake kiddo? You need sleep!” Bertók said.
He woofed, unable to put his thoughts into words.
Bertók laughed, and picked the pup up. He took him to the old rocking chair, holding him close to his chest. “You knew I always come back here after you fall asleep, didn’t you? Is that why you’re up? Were you... waiting for me?”
Bartók cooed.
Bertók smiled.
They fell asleep, rocking together in the chair.
He did not breathe out.
Part 5 is in fauxfawn's form, here.Part 6 - by booklover789My ruptured lungs; they were left this way.
For once, I'm out of breath.
The truth I seek, never felt so bleak but,
I maintain my depth.
Freeze!
I'm breakable; unbreakable.
I'm shaking yet, unshakable...
Until the day that you find me.
WIP
I'll stand here,
Existing and feeling wretched existence.
Consuming life-force 'til I grow distant...
Don't bother searching for somebody like me...
A fading no one.
I don't want to hurt you, it's not my nature.
A monster born from dusk to dawn can't be your savior!
Remember the 'me', the way I used to be.
As who I still should be.
I’ll never lose;
I’ll never move...
I’ll never lose you.
UNRAVELING THE WORLD!
At once, I start changing,
Yet everything’s remaining.
These lives I felt would join as one,
They fade away before they’ve begun.
I’m breakable; unbreakable,
I’m shaking yet, unshakable...
Until these hands “contaminate” you!
I’ll stand here, existing and feeling wretched existence.
Consuming life-force 'til I grow distant.
Don't bother searching for somebody like me...
A fading no one.
This lonely space, held into place by someone crazy
Shall melt away like dawn to day as things get hazy.
So please think of me, the way I used to be.
As who I really should be.
Remember the 'me', the way I used to be.
Oh, won’t you tell? Oh, please just tell...
Well now who could it be, that lives inside of me?
Credits:Song lyrics -
Unraveling (KY0UMI's cover) and
Unraveling (JubyPhonic's cover)Image and GIF - Found on tumblr
(not family-friendly stuff on there, so I can't give proper credit - sorry!)
