Imagine falling into your F/O’s lap when you’re upset or in pain, and they just let you lay there and cry it out for as long as you need, while petting you gently and whispering to you the words that you need to hear.
In the end Chris Redfield was as inhuman as the rest of them. A distorted monster, and stranger in his own skin; a parody of the man he had once been, twisted by the inescapable virus known as grief.
God I beg to move around inhumanly. I beg for it to be normal for me pull my knees close to my chest and let my palms touch the floor, to swing and move and scuttle along in a way that is uncanny to the eye. I want to bound and leap and climb on all fours. I want to bound off trees and fly to the tallest branch and sit. Sit until i get board of the skyline at that angle then i want to jump. And to let my body fall and plummet twisting twords the earth and feeling the wind in my face. Just a few arrow feet above the ground i want to spread my wings and let the wind carry me until i make ground and i repeat the process.
