April 22, 2024, 09:40 AM
shirin lingers at the edge of the forest and her afterimage clings to her like loose sleeves.
she trembles, and so do the stars, which dance in bosonic streaks and arcs, skittering like brilliant hailstones off the leading edge of a wing, down tapered ailerons..
ah! she wrests control of herself. stay awake!
the moon is an embouchure of a madwoman, as bright as teeth. awful, awful to look at.
the rest of the world carries on around her, unknowing or uncaring. or both, she thinks, and grabs at the emptiness in her torso, wonders at how her fist fits beautifully in the hollow just beneath her sternum, as if made for it.
failed sister, failed woman, failed wolf. she bites down on her tongue but cannot even bring herself to break the skin. she moves on.
she trembles, and so do the stars, which dance in bosonic streaks and arcs, skittering like brilliant hailstones off the leading edge of a wing, down tapered ailerons..
ah! she wrests control of herself. stay awake!
the moon is an embouchure of a madwoman, as bright as teeth. awful, awful to look at.
the rest of the world carries on around her, unknowing or uncaring. or both, she thinks, and grabs at the emptiness in her torso, wonders at how her fist fits beautifully in the hollow just beneath her sternum, as if made for it.
failed sister, failed woman, failed wolf. she bites down on her tongue but cannot even bring herself to break the skin. she moves on.
April 22, 2024, 11:22 PM
i love love your writing style :D
the world was a stage when you were middle of age.
trepidation didn't coalesce in his throat like it had when he was a boy, or maybe he just valued this corporeal brazen bull torture chamber a whole lot less.
how he used to dream of a tiny jerusalem for him and everyone he held close in his dreams! but he had to concede, the world couldn't give less of a care.
in the enfolding moonspots that glow, a trembling duck-breasted girl moves; her mazy mind drove her through the blackfooted forest, her chaffy mien intrigued him enough to make himself known.
trepidation didn't coalesce in his throat like it had when he was a boy, or maybe he just valued this corporeal brazen bull torture chamber a whole lot less.
how he used to dream of a tiny jerusalem for him and everyone he held close in his dreams! but he had to concede, the world couldn't give less of a care.
in the enfolding moonspots that glow, a trembling duck-breasted girl moves; her mazy mind drove her through the blackfooted forest, her chaffy mien intrigued him enough to make himself known.
April 23, 2024, 11:19 AM
Love yours too! "how he used to dream of a tiny jerusalem for him..." <3
veins of scar tissue shine on his face, evoking kintsugi.
it reminds her of gavrel. she can hardly stand to look at him.
don't just stare,she seethes, her voice coming out shriller than she means it to.
say hello, at least.
it's manners,she trails off into a mutter, the corners of her eyes red with inclement tears.
a part of her is aware how foolish she sounds -- like someone who has lost everything, but who insists on mincing over the difference between the dessert fork and the fish fork, the direction in which to fold the napkin.
she trembles, still, this time out of latent fear. another part of her hopes that this scarred stranger could be her end.
his ear flicked in annoyance at her trembling wish.
something unpleasant, like screws rapping on tin with the mix of an ailing toad's deep croak answered her, pained.
his throat punched its card, out of commission for the day and then some, and that was all his permeable injury would allow.
his inclination to answer was most likely manifested out of disavowing his own life, it was so empty after all, the brunt of his life spent alone and fending for numero uno.
he was indescribably washed-out.
they were the same.
a hot glint of his eye met hers, both anguished, though his was in a more inwardly weary kinda way.
so he would face her until she willed him away.
he had nothing in front or behind him regardless.
something unpleasant, like screws rapping on tin with the mix of an ailing toad's deep croak answered her, pained.
hallo. nein. pain.
his throat punched its card, out of commission for the day and then some, and that was all his permeable injury would allow.
his inclination to answer was most likely manifested out of disavowing his own life, it was so empty after all, the brunt of his life spent alone and fending for numero uno.
he was indescribably washed-out.
they were the same.
a hot glint of his eye met hers, both anguished, though his was in a more inwardly weary kinda way.
so he would face her until she willed him away.
he had nothing in front or behind him regardless.
April 28, 2024, 10:52 PM
he answers her with the voice of a chronic smoker. how can such a soft and sensitive organ create such metallic noises?
maybe if she opened his throat up, she would see many cogs and screws, like a watchmaker's failed experiment. maybe a cuckoo bird would pop out, on a spring.
she glances at him again, from head to toe. there are many things to pity about him, but he probably thinks the same of her. she cannot seem to stop shaking.
the question is hollow and she answers it herself.
maybe if she opened his throat up, she would see many cogs and screws, like a watchmaker's failed experiment. maybe a cuckoo bird would pop out, on a spring.
it's okay,she winces.
i can do all the talking.
she glances at him again, from head to toe. there are many things to pity about him, but he probably thinks the same of her. she cannot seem to stop shaking.
have you ever been betrayed so terribly?
the question is hollow and she answers it herself.
i know someone who deserves to die for it,she pauses, her saliva filming over her mouth. a bubble forms, filled with her breath. it pops.
it's my brother.she searches the mossy eyes for a reaction.
May 04, 2024, 01:08 PM
sorry for the wait! sorry for the length, no need to match, i may need to edit for clarification lol
he breathes the sharply under appraisal.
some boyish part him keels, but settles and is forgot.
his warhammer-jaw fastens once more, true to clockware design.
betrayed?
he never outright fought the nuances of the situation, favoring the piling hypocrisy with all the blame he practically shot out of t-shirt cannon in close range to his cold reality.
no more misplaced grievances would be carried, where he nursed it within the crook of his arm, bringing back a roll of newspaper down suburb driveway. he would truly have nothing.
it was profane but profound to him; that's all he needed.
the buttresses of his skull shuddered with familiar dread—the rope is pulled, the hinge and swung and clapper rings the bow bells;
someone deserves to die?
he knew that well enough. his head rings, he stills, his head aches as he clings to emotion. his headache seethes.
her brother?
where did she get such conviction? when his quotidian "vengeful edgy teen" routine had switched in favor for a mellow foxtrot of his golden years, her anger would've been well met.
the colorfulness of the lenten season invited the communion of raindances, fields of poppies and lark, and everything old being made anew, but all these two could indulge in was justice for the state they had found themselves in.
if she didn't have his pensive interest before, she had it now. a watery eye meets her, and he shakily presses towards the woman, hoping this headache would pass quickly today.
with all precaution for strangers thrown to the wind with reckless abandon, of course. for all he knew, she only quivered like a yew bow to strike him down with her arrow.
he wonders about her effervescent lips, and if shirin would melt if touched. if her anger could justify his, if he could breathe easily with purpose again. he tries to speak again, but this time, he tries not to hurt himself. he's found a way.
"help?" he offers.
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