[ he is not self-flagellating on principle for it accomplishes nothing; this is not a deserved punishment he will accept. someone means to gain something from this, and he will not be subjected to their whims, whether it's suffering he is owed by fate or not. whatever guilt he carries over elijah, whatever pain and longing he feels for his siblings, whatever anger he harbors is inconsequential to what is his due: survival, and whatever else he might fancy.
such as ripping out the throats of those responsible.
(all he desires is to find a way back to his daughter.)
that is the purpose driving him.
but there is an immediacy to this purpose: to seeing caroline safely with him. because he does guilt; he does pain and long. he angers. he feels, and it is with a frenzy of hope at this sliver of solace and responsibility that he shifts and pulls and dislodges each piece of wood, ignoring the bite and scrape of splinters, the wetness of the blood that stains his hand from his makeshift knife, as he fights with each unforgiving inch. they are lucky, for he encounters no floor beneath it but a drop and another layer of wood.
he uses his feet and weight to test its give, then tries the knife on it with poor leverage and little result but more minor injury. it is arduous, infuriating work, but eventually a board cracks and falls to the soil below the house, and then another, and another. he stops, looks at the mess he has made with spiteful satisfaction at the success. ]
Find a way under the porch. [ he calls out to her, and then looks over with wide eyes to the quiet phone. it has been quiet. ] Caroline?
no subject
such as ripping out the throats of those responsible.
(all he desires is to find a way back to his daughter.)
that is the purpose driving him.
but there is an immediacy to this purpose: to seeing caroline safely with him. because he does guilt; he does pain and long. he angers. he feels, and it is with a frenzy of hope at this sliver of solace and responsibility that he shifts and pulls and dislodges each piece of wood, ignoring the bite and scrape of splinters, the wetness of the blood that stains his hand from his makeshift knife, as he fights with each unforgiving inch. they are lucky, for he encounters no floor beneath it but a drop and another layer of wood.
he uses his feet and weight to test its give, then tries the knife on it with poor leverage and little result but more minor injury. it is arduous, infuriating work, but eventually a board cracks and falls to the soil below the house, and then another, and another. he stops, looks at the mess he has made with spiteful satisfaction at the success. ]
Find a way under the porch. [ he calls out to her, and then looks over with wide eyes to the quiet phone. it has been quiet. ] Caroline?