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He didn’t know when everything hit him like a wave crashing on the shore.
Maybe it had been when he stood over Scar with a blade at his neck at the pond.
Maybe it was when they had entered the cactus ring.
Maybe it happened when the voices of all their victims counted down til they had to brutally beat each other to declare a victor.
Maybe it struck him when he had landed the last hit and heard the crunch of Scar’s bones under his tainted hands.
Maybe it was during Scar’s last breath, carried away as the winds of the desert swept.
Maybe it was at the time he whispered strung apologies in Scar’s ears broken by burning tears and silenced sobs.
He just knew he felt like retching up.
He felt like cleansing his body of every sin he had done.
Every wrongdoing.
Every explosion.
Every slash of his sword.
Every arrow that flew from his bow.
Every graze of his hand against Scar’s calloused hands.
Every second he laid awake entwined with Scar.
Every look he spared Scar.
For he never deserved any of this.
He never deserved to win.
He never deserved to be the one left standing.
He never deserved to even stand next to Scar.
Fate was cruel.
It made sure that he suffered for every second he stood next to Scar, basking in his smile.
He cradled the sweet corpse of his other half in his arms for a second,
He at least did one righteous thing to deserve this selfish action.
Even in death, Scar was his everything.
Even in death, he was the prettiest person he had ever known.
Even in death, Scar always had his heart.
He warily stood up, swaying like a dead bush in the wind.
With all its leaves lost, color drained out of its core.
He turned his head to see the setting sun over the head of a certain llama’s grave.
Its golden rays of light softly cascaded on his bloodied and bruised face.
He stumbled past the grave, poppies that Scar wove into his hair falling on the trail of blood he made.
His wings dragged idly across the sand, feathers jutting in directions where they shouldn’t.
He soon found himself standing at the edge of a cliff with tear-stained cheeks.
It was time for him to let go, for the lingering spirits had said so.
They told him it was all but one life left, so bid your farewells.
He gazed over his shoulder to steal a glance at the man he knew, body gone from where it
laid with only a pool of blood as red as poppies remaining.
He took a step off as the rush of wind engulfed him.
The gusts of air weaved through his feathers with a touch similar to Scar’s on a cool desert
night when Scar insisted on preening through his wings.
Death caressed his face, like Scar had on the night before the siege of Monopoly Mountain.
He peered at the sun one last time, burning a vermillion identical to Scar’s eyes.
He couldn’t ask for a monumental last sight.
A smile creeped onto his face as he closed his eyes, arms blooming to the floor beneath him.
The crunch of bones echoed through the desert, where two halves of a soul once lived.