Matt Murdock (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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sixthiterationlogs2016-10-25 12:54 pm
matt_murdock) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-10-25 12:54 pm
should release but just tighten my grip; [OTA]
Matt Murdock has never been very good at taking his own advice.
Case in point: Finding himself in a situation which is both extraordinary and demoralizing, he spends weeks -- Actual weeks -- feeling profoundly sorry for himself. Oh, he's gone out, he's met people, he's socialized in that familiar, flimsy way which feels comfortable and restricting at the same time. He's smiled, he's been amiable, but he's been on his knees next to his bed every night, forehead pressed to the edge of the mattress, begging for forgiveness, for insight, for help.
It isn't that he doesn't know it's at the end of his own arm. It's that it just feels so fucking unfair.
And he's not ready yet to call Frank Castle a saving grace, at least not out loud, but if there was ever a person to live with who would refuse to let you stew in your own self-righteous misery, Frank's it. So Matt's been up everyday, and he's been going out, and he's been learning all over again what it means to lose most of his sight.
Oh yeah, and he's following his own advice: You have to start somewhere.
The village is easy enough to tackle; it's rough around the edges but it's orderly and the landscape doesn't change much. But if he's going to get out of this place, he first has to get out of the village, and that's no mean feat for a blind man dropped in the middle of unfamiliar terrain.
So he starts simple. Everyday, he takes care to stock his pack with water and food, and everyday he works his way a little further into the forest. He learns the scent of different plants and where they grow, he marks his steps, and he keeps the sound of the river on his right side. It isn't much, but it's a start, and he may come out of it with scrapes and welts, but everyday he gets a little further.
Today, he's made it all the way to the waterfall, which he realizes was maybe not the greatest choice the first time his feet slip on moss-covered stones. He lands hard on his ass, wincing at the rattle of pain up his spine, and then pushes himself to his feet again.
You have to start somewhere.
Case in point: Finding himself in a situation which is both extraordinary and demoralizing, he spends weeks -- Actual weeks -- feeling profoundly sorry for himself. Oh, he's gone out, he's met people, he's socialized in that familiar, flimsy way which feels comfortable and restricting at the same time. He's smiled, he's been amiable, but he's been on his knees next to his bed every night, forehead pressed to the edge of the mattress, begging for forgiveness, for insight, for help.
It isn't that he doesn't know it's at the end of his own arm. It's that it just feels so fucking unfair.
And he's not ready yet to call Frank Castle a saving grace, at least not out loud, but if there was ever a person to live with who would refuse to let you stew in your own self-righteous misery, Frank's it. So Matt's been up everyday, and he's been going out, and he's been learning all over again what it means to lose most of his sight.
Oh yeah, and he's following his own advice: You have to start somewhere.
The village is easy enough to tackle; it's rough around the edges but it's orderly and the landscape doesn't change much. But if he's going to get out of this place, he first has to get out of the village, and that's no mean feat for a blind man dropped in the middle of unfamiliar terrain.
So he starts simple. Everyday, he takes care to stock his pack with water and food, and everyday he works his way a little further into the forest. He learns the scent of different plants and where they grow, he marks his steps, and he keeps the sound of the river on his right side. It isn't much, but it's a start, and he may come out of it with scrapes and welts, but everyday he gets a little further.
Today, he's made it all the way to the waterfall, which he realizes was maybe not the greatest choice the first time his feet slip on moss-covered stones. He lands hard on his ass, wincing at the rattle of pain up his spine, and then pushes himself to his feet again.
You have to start somewhere.
no subject
Sam took the hand offered, giving it a firm shake, "Sam. Looks like we're both dropping the ball on pleasantries...although that's pretty easy to do in this place."
no subject
"But he's a decent guy." As long as you're a decent guy. "He's gruff, but he's a good guy to rely on when it comes to helping people who maybe can't help themselves."
Which apparently includes him now. How depressing.