Duck Lake kind of wishing that i never did saturday

she impresses upon him she is not shrink away from his dysphonia. the lightness in his head cautions a preordained ache.

he didn’t have to be sentimental.

he didn’t have to realize anything.

in truth she didn’t know him, how could she? he swaggered backwards awkwardly in the water, still facing her. the lethargy in his bones was permeable, his skin rankled with gooseflesh and blacker than ever, and was damned beyond effability.

he barely knew himself, he had shed his tail and eaten it too many times to count.

astraeus made his pitiful condition palpable, and was too willing and wet behind the ears.

klaus is a bitten fish in the lake, and is lean and alert.

masterful, yet unadulterated, damascus steel.

it wasn’t a mask if he wore it right.

“nein,” a germanic clue nonetheless.

where was his duck? he thinks with a new brandished annoyance, before the clashing of kartels that produced the finest sounds, and hot, white flashes in his temple elected a stronger, pained groan that forced him to sit his midriff in the water.

…. more like a heat-seeking missile to his temple.