September 14, 2019, 11:56 AM
(This post was last modified: September 22, 2019, 05:07 AM by Clementine.)
breathe in, breath out.
there's water in her lungs, brine in her fur. she's being pulled towards the depths; not just caught in a current, this time, but dragged down and under. dizzing fractions of sight; of light and the underside of great waves, of the inky blue black that is the unknown. she can hear the ocean's heartbeat, the sound of the waves but amplified, deepened, becoming louder and louder the furth down she's pulled. she kickes and fights and suddenly she breaks the surface, but it's not the surface, not really, because the ocean is in the sky now and it's going to crush her.
boom.
and it's falling and she kicking to shore, but there isn't any shore, not anymore.
boom.
they have to get away. before the ocean's anger reaches a boiling point.
boom.
she gasps and tastes only cool night air, and she's alone at the base of a fir that's become her favourite hidey-hole. the dream in tangible, distinct, and the ground is thundering more than it has before. clementine bolts for where she knows Erzulie normally spends the night, where she usually does, too. she's desperate, now, to follow her mother on the trip she'd promised.
there's water in her lungs, brine in her fur. she's being pulled towards the depths; not just caught in a current, this time, but dragged down and under. dizzing fractions of sight; of light and the underside of great waves, of the inky blue black that is the unknown. she can hear the ocean's heartbeat, the sound of the waves but amplified, deepened, becoming louder and louder the furth down she's pulled. she kickes and fights and suddenly she breaks the surface, but it's not the surface, not really, because the ocean is in the sky now and it's going to crush her.
boom.
and it's falling and she kicking to shore, but there isn't any shore, not anymore.
boom.
they have to get away. before the ocean's anger reaches a boiling point.
boom.
she gasps and tastes only cool night air, and she's alone at the base of a fir that's become her favourite hidey-hole. the dream in tangible, distinct, and the ground is thundering more than it has before. clementine bolts for where she knows Erzulie normally spends the night, where she usually does, too. she's desperate, now, to follow her mother on the trip she'd promised.
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don't fear the reaper. - by Clementine - September 14, 2019, 11:56 AM