Death, a metaphor {Sue x Orville blitz}
Jun 1, 2015 22:08:58 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jun 1, 2015 22:08:58 GMT -5
S U E T A T E
Sue Tate was dying as soon as his words hit the ground.
"Sue Tate." His name echoes in his head, bouncing around the inside of his skull and putting cracks in the lining. One breath, two hands wrapped around his arms and three spit-less gulps as they lead him through those empty walls. Sixty nine pairs of eyes stare into his soul, their lips chapped with age and their cheeks stained with the touch of death.
They wear suits of dust and undershirts of broken hopes and dreams, with their ambitions pressing against the canvas of the painting.
They put him in a cage of peeling wallpaper and a cracked wood coffee table, and it's all he can do to not throw himself out the window.
"It'll be alright." His words snap heart strings like a tribute's sanity, pierces the innards of his mind with daggers forged from words and the fiery downfall of his lies.
He paces around the room, tasting the death in the air. And he swears, it circles around him and traces a bony finger across his throat. Theres one breath, two breath, and on his third his foot catches on something and theres a creak and he stumbles forward slightly, one hand on the wall and the other on the musty air.
A nail sticks up from it's hiding place, bent from the weight of his lies crushing it. It taunts him, and as he kneels down, boots snapping, he admires his reflection in the metal plate.
Far too large fingers rip it from it's resting place, and he stares at his reflection before stuffing it into his pocket.
The couch springs creak and whine as he sits, tracing death lines in the dust of the table.
