Work Text:
“What happened to you?” they ask, walking alongside the broken man.
“I died,” is what he thinks, and the words tumble unbidden from his mouth. Rough, sandy words, and senseless, considering he’s dead.
The broken man squints in confusion at the plain of desert ahead of him, pausing his crawl to doubt. He is dead, isn’t he?
The stranger stares down at him in the glare of the sun, features hidden by the contrast of light. Even in death, the broken man resents the scrutiny.
“I died,” he repeats, spitting something foul to the sand below.
“Good,” answers his father.