Work Text:
Taylor let his eyelids go limp, his head as light as he’d ever felt it. His senses swung, body pain dull and gravity itself swinging like a pendulum below him. His eyes opened, hand grasping at his chest yet nearly numb. He looked up at Zaius, Zaius wide-eyed and furrow-browed, standing defensively with his shoulders upturned in offense. Above him, yet mere feet away.
Taylor felt his heart throb; maybe not of pain in his chest from the bullets, but of grief. It was as if Taylor could feel his head becoming impossibly weightless.
He mustered up all that he could,
“Bloody bastard.” His lips felt foreign. His mind couldn’t even register it was him who spoke.
Taylor miraculously lifted a bloody arm, his hand reaching toward heaven. Up went his grasp, but only a moment later he lost all tension in his body. As slowly as his hand ascended, gravity gave way and Taylor’s body fell. His eyes rolled up into his head like buoys, his body going forward and a sense of falling lasting for what felt infinite. He tried to focus on his last ounce of physical sensation and proprioception, his heavy hand falling with him to grasp what Taylor could only pray was his last, meaningful fight.
He tells others that what he does is not for fame or self-interest, which is true. Perhaps his intruige can be attributed to something more close to his heart.
His senses faded out around him, or rather into him, emotional pain the only tangible thing in his mind. Around him, Taylor could have swore he felt the world shake before he lost consciousness for the final time.