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Lloyd’s heart is slow.
You’d think that he’d be afflicted by the opposite case—a heart running on seemingly endless energy, pumping faster and faster. Neverending. But Lloyd’s life has always been one to stubbornly defy labels of predictable or expected, and so his heart is slow and his energy is slowly being siphoned into the world around him.
It’s not something he’s concerned about, though. Delays between the beats in his chest are nothing compared to bruised ribs, cracked bones, and thousands of minor scrapes and cuts. In fact, it’s better than those; each small injury was always eager to constantly remind Lloyd of its presence—be it twinges like needle pricks, or dull aches, or something new that only he gets the honour of experiencing.
But this?
This feels like an exhale. Relief. An ending.
Lloyd listens to his heart as each beat stretches further
and further
apart.
Leaves tickle his neck.
If it weren’t for the sun dipping towards the horizon, Lloyd wouldn’t have been able to tell just how long he’d been laying there for. Time moves fluidly when you’re alone—a concept Lloyd’s been familiar with for years.
His hand is too heavy to do anything but card through the grass. There’s a weight on his shoulders—no, his whole body. It’s something that’s always been there; when he and his family carried the weight of the world on their shoulders, he used to describe it as a mountain. Now, it’s more like a blanket. Warm. Like acceptance. He’s never been given enough time to savour that, so he doesn’t waste the opportunity.
The trees rustle like a lullaby.
Lloyd’s breaths are slow, and so is his heart.
Each beat echoes through his heavy limbs and weary mind like a toll. The pauses are far too long to be anything short of concerning, but he isn’t worried. The fading sun is warm against his cheek; his legs are slowly sinking into the ground, rooting in the soil.
He thinks the pauses are getting longer.
The flowers next to his head gleam golden yellow; the last time he saw petals that colour is separated from now by too many years to count.
Since then, time has crawled
exhaustingly slowly
like the sun across the sky.
But Lloyd is slower, and time has been catching up. Not that it was ever a chase. His bones have been drenched in fatigue for the entirety of his recent memory; the final grains of sand are almost gone. He might be ready for when they run out.
When Lloyd’s hair tickles his neck, it’s soft like the grass he’s lying on. His eyes close, but he doesn’t think he needs them anymore.
He exhales, and his heart is silent.
Deep in the outskirts of an island shaped like a dragon, there is a tree that stands taller than the rest. Sturdy roots anchor it to the ground. Wrapped in vines from the ground upwards, it stretches its rough limbs into the sky and brushes the clouds.
When you put your ear up against the bark, you can catch the faintest beat of a heart.