No, no, he can hear him. He can hear him coming. Tim screws his eyes closed, wishing he had the willpower to keep his mouth shut so the other man could pass him by and leave him.
He can still hear the voice curling in his head.
"If you don't do the right thing, and burn to death - "
It'd be right. It'd be more than right. It'd be just. Poetic. Deserved. He knows it. Aches for it - or maybe that's just his back. It'd be better, that way, if he could just be strong enough, powerful enough to let himself burn to dust and ash like he should have - weeks ago? days ago? how long as has it been? Maybe time doesn't matter here so much. Everything's already slowed down, the smoke clotting in his throat and turning his mind dull and soft and edgeless.
The words begin as little more than a formless groan, raw and whispered with the effort to carve them out with a tongue that's too thick and too heavy.
"Here." He has to move. He tries, and immediately regrets it. His fingers brush hot embers. He recoils, and his spine arches at the strain. He thinks he cries out - maybe it's him, maybe it's the other guy, maybe it's someone else, anyone else trapped in this hellhole with them, get them out get them out get them out get him out oh god oh god oh god, and he realizes it has to be him yelling, because there's no one else.
tw: hella suicide ideation
He can still hear the voice curling in his head.
"If you don't do the right thing, and burn to death - "
It'd be right. It'd be more than right. It'd be just. Poetic. Deserved. He knows it. Aches for it - or maybe that's just his back. It'd be better, that way, if he could just be strong enough, powerful enough to let himself burn to dust and ash like he should have - weeks ago? days ago? how long as has it been? Maybe time doesn't matter here so much. Everything's already slowed down, the smoke clotting in his throat and turning his mind dull and soft and edgeless.
The words begin as little more than a formless groan, raw and whispered with the effort to carve them out with a tongue that's too thick and too heavy.
"Here." He has to move. He tries, and immediately regrets it. His fingers brush hot embers. He recoils, and his spine arches at the strain. He thinks he cries out - maybe it's him, maybe it's the other guy, maybe it's someone else, anyone else trapped in this hellhole with them, get them out get them out get them out get him out oh god oh god oh god, and he realizes it has to be him yelling, because there's no one else.