nealuchi | she'eriot shel ha'chaim

Title: she'eriot shel ha'chaim
Fandom: Original
Character(s): Gershom, Salvador
Pairing(s): Gershom/Salvador
Genre: Angst
Word Count: 832
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Toxic relationship, body horror
Summary: Vignettes of the life and unlife of a shut-in. Or, Deuteronomy 18:10.
Notes: Part of Life's Leftovers. I debated for a while about whether to post my original stuff here but I might as well.

mitzvah83 replied to your comment and said: Why don’t you start writing poetry again? Your articles are basically poetry already lol

Gershom reads the comment. Then reads it over again, before turning off his computer monitor.

He starts pacing the length of the hallway between his bedroom and the living room - it’s not much, but it’ll do to work out some of this nervous energy. He’d worry about bothering the neighbors in the apartment below, but he invested in cat-faced slippers long before he picked up the pacing habit.

Why doesn’t he start writing poetry again? Not even while intending to show anyone. Certainly not love poetry - never, never again - but just a couplet or two. He still carries golden-tipped memories of warm afternoons spent sitting on the grass under the sun and jotting down his thoughts.

(At least, he thinks he remembers what sunshine felt like. His apartment’s windows haven’t been uncovered in decades.)

But dwelling on thoughts of those days makes Gershom impossibly nauseous, the churning of a stomach he doesn’t have. With a heavy sigh, he returns to his computer.

You commented: Maybe someday. Life is full of surprises, nu?

There shall not be found among you any one that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire, one that useth divination, a soothsayer, or an enchanter, or a sorcerer, or a charmer, or one that consulteth a ghost or a familiar spirit, or a necromancer.

For whosoever doeth these things is an abomination unto the Lord.

“Wonderful as always, my gazelle.”

“My lord, you know I hate you reading my poems before they’re completely done…”

“There’s no need to be so self-conscious. They’re perfect as they are. And it’s Salvador when we’re alone, hm?”

“…Salvador.”

“Perfect. Though I suppose ’my lord’ doesn’t sound bad coming from your beautiful lips.”

“You’re too kind to me, but I’m hardly beautiful-”

“Shhh. I say you’re beautiful, my love, and tell me whose word matters more than mine?”

“Of course no one’s…”

“Exactly. Now come here and let me show you.”

Rosh Hashanah is soon. Gershom scrolls down a list of synagogues streaming their services.

For a long, long time now, High Holidays have been the only reason to leave his home and risk detection. If he bundled up in enough layers and covered his face, he can attend services. The larger the synagogue the better: less likely for one congregant to be noticed and run out of town.

(He’s lost track of how many times that’s happened, but he’d rather not repeat the experience. This apartment is comfortable and has stable wi-fi.)

But if he can fulfill the commandment to hear the shofar blown without leaving his apartment, then that’s better, isn’t it? Safer. 365 days spent inside one apartment is not so different from 361.

Of course he’d like to get outside more. He’d like a lot of things he can’t have, but wanting them will only make him miserable.

It’s not a bad situation, really. The internet lets him have more of a social life than he’s had in the last nine centuries combined. He has access to e-books and cat videos. Who is he to complain about not being able to see anyone face-to-face ever again?

It’s better than an abomination deserves.

“I wish I could spend all my time studying Torah.”

“And not spare any time for me?”

“That’s not what I… Besides spending time with you, I still have to work, because I still have to eat. If I didn’t have that I could spend that time on more meaningful things.”

“Hmm… You know, a business partner of mine has come up with a health elixir you might be interested in. One sip and your need for food will plummet.”

“Something like that actually exists?”

“Would I lie to you, my gazelle? I’ve tried it myself with superb results.”

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to at least try.”

“Wonderful. I will have you in the best possible health, so that you may stay by my side for as long as I live.”

It burns.

It tastes like acid going down, and a pain seizes his heart and grips it tightly. He’s no stranger to medicine tasting awful, but this is a level of pain he’s never experienced. Salvador must have complete faith in this medicine to recommend it anyway, and he has faith in Salvador.

His skin itches. He scratches until he notices his hair falling out, beard-first but soon the rest. As he wipes the hairs off his arms, his skin sloughs off with it and doesn’t stop.

He turns to look at Salvador, to plead for help to demand answers to ask why,

and Salvador is smiling so, so sweetly.

“It’ll only hurt for a little while, my gazelle. And after that, you and I will be together for eternity.”

Gershom hasn’t seen Salvador in a thousand years, but his smile haunts him still.

He supposes that proves Salvador right.