"Exile"

Ghostbur knew that word, it provoked a slight throb in the back of his mind, an underwhelming itch he couldn't scratch.

Exile, he could remember it so obviously it had positive correlations, right?

Every time he thought of it, he could feel the smallest feeling of freedom, of letting loose and connecting with people he loved, A euphoric feeling of realization that somehow felt out of place.

Exile, somehow the word hurt him- A dull jolt of pain rising in his chest every time he hears it. A nostalgic feeling of overwhelming pain and loneliness.

Exile, in the back of his mind he knew it wasn't good.

With every good feeling it brought an ache in his mind to accompany the positivity. Something in the back of his mind told him through the smallest of whispers, it wasn't a word he should consider good.

It reminded him of sleepless nights, a drowning loneliness, and sanity dangled by a thread in a world full of awaiting scissors.

It reminded him of war, fights between his family, and a sharp pain wracking his whole body, followed by a subtle wash of betrayal and unbearable contentment.

Ghostbur knew the word was bad, and he could hardly deal with the feelings it washed over him.

So when he saw his younger brother get overtaken by the same word that haunted his own ghost every night he read the books in his library with pain waving through his body, he reminded himself that he definitely didn't want to remember the word 'Exile'

Word count; 258

Fic type; Ficlet