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When the smoke clears Prosper begins to make out a form in the mist, he approaches slowly and sees a skinny old man with silvery hair falling down to his shoulders. Could it be? The old man begins laughing, his shoulders heaving with the effort and long, skinny legs kicking out against the dirt.
“Scip?” He calls out, and the old man falls silent.
After a couple of breaths, the man begins to sit up, it’s an obvious effort for him though, with creaky ancient joints so Prosper runs to his side and takes his arm to help him sit up.
“Is that really you?” Prosper asks, taking in his withered face and paper-thin skin. But those eyes, they’re wrinkled with crows feet at the corners and heavy bags sit below them but it’s unmistakable. He watches as the old man looks down at his hands, large and crooked with arthritis. It’s like meeting up with someone you haven’t seen in a long time, he’s completely changed but there’s this twinge of familiarity sitting just below the surface. He’s lost years of his life, now before him sits a man in the Twilight of his life.
“Seems like I’ve aged enough for the both of us, eh?” He says as if reading Prosper’s mind. There’s no mistaking it now, Prosper meets his eyes again.
“You went too far, come on then,” he says, pulling the old man up to stand. He groans with the effort of it and Prosper struggles, bearing the majority of his weight. Scipio may be skinny and frail, but his limbs are impossibly long and add a great deal to his overall weight. A great deal too much for Prosper anyway.
Scipio stands with a hunched back, stooped low without the strength to stand at his full height.
“A good thing we didn’t go on together or we’d just be a couple of useless old men,” Prosper says as he pulls Scipio along with him towards the carousel. He has a brief moment to think of them growing old together.
“Where are we going?”
“You’re going back on to take some years off you. You look minutes away from death.”
“No!” And with surprising strength, Scipio wrenches himself from Prosper’s grasp. He lands on the ground again with a groan of pain. Prosper drops to join him, hands hovering over him, unsure of what to do.
“What-“
“I’m not going on again!”
“No, don’t worry! You’ll just have to get off a lot sooner-“
“I said I won’t do it!”
With a sort of helplessness Prosper begins to feel his eyes burn with unshed tears.
“Why?” His voice cracks on the word.
“I won’t risk it,” Scipio says, crossing his arms across his chest.
“It’ll be fine, you won’t go too far this time. We’ll make sure of it.”
“I can’t risk it, this is the only way I can be sure.”
“Be sure of what?!” Prosper yells.
“Be sure I can get away from my father,” the old man croaks out, his jaw trembles and Prosper can see that he’s barely holding back tears as well.
Prop reaches out and wraps a hand around Scipio’s skinny wrist and rubs a thumb against his paper-thin skin.
“You can barely walk.” Prosper whispers.
“It’s just because now that I’m old it hurts. I’ll get used to it.” He says in a low voice, trying to sound comforting.
“You’ll die.” It’s a long moment before Scipio answers.
“We all die one way or another.”
And then the tears do begin to fall.