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“The sun will rise, and we will try again.”
“Stay alive, stay alive, for me.”
* * * * *
“Torchbearer?”
He was jolted out of his trance-like state. Josh found himself on the floormat of his tent, sweaty and disoriented. His face was sticky and stiff from dried tears.
“What?” He bit back with a little more malice in his voice than he meant to give.
“Sorry, are you…are you okay?” The Bandito, Marco, nervously asked, lingering by the tent flap, rocking back and forth on each foot. “You look…” he bit his cheek “kind of dead.”
Josh groaned and sat up, his vision swimming like his head was a fishbowl that he’d suddenly decided to pick up and shake. “I’m just fine, Marco. Don’t worry about me. Any news of interest?”
“No sir. But we’re working on it. We should be able to locate a new Clancy in a few months' time.”
His heart sank, deep down into the pit of his stomach, at the mention of that name. “Okay.” He grit his teeth. “You can go.”
Marco nodded nervously, letting the flap drop back down. The crunch of the leaves grew quieter as he walked away, and as soon as he couldn’t hear them anymore, Josh crawled pathetically onto his cot, and reached into his pillowcase. He pulled out the Clancy mask. Clancy’s mask. His mask. Him.
Somewhere between a giant wave of grief and a croak escaping his throat, he found his face wet and salty again, tongue flicking out to lick away a tear.
“Miss you…” He murmured, burying his face into the cool gray and red fabric. “So much…”
A choked sob followed, and then he couldn’t stop. “Why-...why did you leave me?” He whispered with his lips against the mouth of the mask. “Left me here all by myself and I’m supposed to just…just f-forget?” His whole ribcage shook with the next unsteady inhale.
“I don’t want a new Clancy…” The pitch of his voice went up higher as he whimpered, wiping his eyes with the mask. “...don’t want anyone else ‘cept you…I..” hic “..you didn’t even say goodbye.”
Suddenly he felt a flood of rage, clawing its way from the tip of his toes to the veins in his neck, up into his ears with a sharp, hot burn. His eyes practically poured. “Dammit! Fuck!” He wailed, punching the mask into his pillow. “Fuck you god why- why did you fucking leave me!? I hate you, I hate you!!” He punched until his wrists ached, sobbed until his eyes hurt, and yelled until his throat was sore.
He collapsed back down against the pillow, pressing Clancy’s mask against the skin of his neck, under his chin. With a shuddering breath, he mumbled. “I never got the chance to say I love you.”
* * * * *
“Torchbearer?”
Again, he was jolted out of his own headspace, on the floor. His face was sticky and stiff from dried tears. The mask was cradled in his hands, squished against his cheek.
“Go away.” He muttered.
“Are you okay?”
“What’s it to you?”
“...Your sleeves are bloody.”
“...right.”