Chimera Fields oh, fortune fortune

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It was most interesting how her mind assumed a settled and unhurried pace; by now the high was quit perceptible, but it was a permutation she was completely at peace with. Here she felt good, here she felt featherlight and tranquil.  The stracciatella girl was sure she had never felt so good in the entirety of her existence [especially when contrasted to the anguish of moments before]. She found that she could hold one thought for interminable moments, realizing great things about it; momentous things!, only to have her genius blown to the wind like the eroded sands of the coastal cliffs. She could feel so clearly — her heart that thump thump thumped inside her slight, downy ribcage.  That sonorous energy reverberated down her body and wrapped around her willowed limbs, which had become flimsy and really quite heavy; nearly too heavy to move, but that was alright.  It was all alright. The lamb knew in her heart of hearts that she would be fine, no matter what life in the wilds could throw at her.

If such good a feeling existed in the world, then all the bad was worth it.

Kitsch stood still out of both want and need; her body wouldn’t move, but her mind didn’t want to anyways. The girl was fine standing where she was, toes flexing against the soft grasses of spring; feeling the puff of her sugared breath as the rise-fall-rise-fall of her chest set the pace; her listless gaze watching as the man faded in an out — but every time she refocused on his looming form her was closer, then closer, then closer. Then the man was upon her, pressing the warmth of his lovely nose into the pulse point behind her ear. The girl used whatever energy she had to press herself against his ministrations, surprisingly receptive to his touch. She did not know who he was, nor did she question it; this right here, how he touched her, it was nothing but pure artistry — but why wouldn’t it be perfect? For she was perfect, faultless, immaculate and all other good things. She was god. 

Kitsch wondered if he could feel the thumping of her heart. She was so close to him, felt so intimate, and she felt as if she already knew him and he already knew her; already knew all of her secrets and dark places — places she did not let anyone see — and she welcomed him freely. Kitsch’s hardened facade had faded completely and now even her skin felt weighted and it was a notable presence all over her body. The seconds turned into minutes which turned into years. The man moved away and Kitsch felt her chin lift so that she could watch the slurried form of the man as he moved, but her gaze always trailed just a second or so behind. Kitsch didn’t want him to leave yet... but if he did, that would be okay too. The sun felt warm. so warm. She had a divine trust in this moment and knew it would not forsake her. So the girl pursed thin lips to utter another single word; the only word her mind and lips could possibly form at that moment. The word “who?” rode upon her exhale, barely perceptible against the shallowness of her breath. 

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