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Summary
His everyday schedule was simple.
He would pull himself from the water, washing up on a beach with broken chairs and torn umbrellas. His hands would be shaking as he counted the wrinkles on his fingertips from being in the water for too long. (He never did know why he woke up there every day)
He would push himself up the hill, past the beach, past the Christmas tree, and past tnret. He would shiver against his wet clothing, grimacing at the way it brushed his skin the wrong way. His clothes were tattered, immersed with dirt and grime and sweat and blood. He didn't mind it after a while, and it's been a while, a long while.
Or;
an exile oneshot that I wrote because i miss c!Tommy
Series
- Part 4 of SBI's five stages of grief
- Part 1 of Lore brainrot oneshots
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Bookmark Notes:
Exile