depression is a hell of a thing
8/20: the prompt for today was me sitting outside and it felt like autumn. this is nothing I’m just going through that thing where I’m trying to convince myself I still know how to put words into a sentence.
“It’s cold outside for the first time,” Till said, and Jack laughed his easy, crisp laugh. They sat at the edge of a copse of trees which opened onto a wide plain, and the wind combing through the grass smelled like change. Till couldn’t quite describe it–that smell like browning leaves and the thinning veil, but not quite the impending-rot and demise-of-nature smell that came later in the season. He enjoyed this although it made him melancholy for reasons he couldn’t fathom.
Jack stood beside him and Till glanced up to meet his eyes when the Immortal dropped his star-strewn cloak onto Till’s shoulders.
“Thanks,” Till said.
“Well, I am a perfect gentleman,” Jack said. But he sounded and looked a little absent, his golden eyes flicking off towards the hills.
Till waited. Usually these contemplative moods required no prompting for elaboration.
“Why do mortals fear winter so?” Jack said at last. Till didn’t answer for a long moment, enthralled with the way his friend’s pupils darted minutely to and fro, monitoring the motion of the wind across the hills.
Finally he looked down at the grass beneath him, plucking at it absent-mindedly.
“Everything dies,” he said. “Maybe it’s like an instinctual, ancestral fear. I don’t know.”
“Perhaps,” Jack said. “Do you fear winter?”
“Yes,” Till said. He shrugged. He feared the loss of true warmth, the baking, sultry heat of the sun. He missed sweating. He missed open windows and sleeping warm. “Do you?”
He looked back up in time for Jack’s mouth to draw into a sour line, his brow crinkling inward.
“I suppose I do,” he said.