{ s l e e p y h e a d s } elegant

Tick, tock, tick tock- 

My feet crash against the pavement - I think I'm a hiccup. Just a hiccup. It was a pink day, a sherbet day and I ran with tube socks sliding down my leg, my skinny legs taking pace with the tick tock tick tocking of my heart beat in my ear; I'm a hiccup.

The sky opened up, the first crack of thunder hitting crashing; the sound of a midnight orchestra in my veins with every hit and thud and rumble and great roar, it's mighty roar. I've always been too tiny for it; I've always been too tiny for everything. An afro and an oversized pocket watch, jeans too big and hand me down raincoats; I've always been too tiny, and I roar back - the tiniest mighty great fearsome roar I can. 

I think I'm a hiccup. 

It's heat lightning I tell myself, it's fine it's fine it's fine, I'm fine, it's fine - my tiny pip squeak yells echoing its challenge (I know I can win, somehow) I can't make it home before the flash. Before the drip of water damage soaking through paper clouds, the sky opens on me and only me and the ticking and the tocking of the watch on my neck kissing my cheek, whispering in my ear - Carmody, girl, what are you doing out? - I shake my head, knowing he'd shake his too. The ticking becomes off beat, the clacking of old tennis shoes on pavement; I'm going to be late, I'm not gonna make it.

The ticking becomes off beat for the rain takes tempo.

"Michael," Ridley reads out, his name, my pocket watch's name; she holds up two fingers to her head and I catch my inhale with the palm of my hand - one strike of thunder hits and it's not a roar, but a howl. I clutch the pocket watch across my neck and rip it, popping from my neck and into my pocket - I can do this I can do this I can I can make it. 

I don't. 

I knew I wouldn't, but I don't and I can't but I can, the rain hits me as a flash and my hair skids across my face, coiled bangs rubbing against the frown lines and I cover my eyes, gross sobbing at every clash and hit of thunder and lightning and I can't hear it, I can't hear him; the tick tick ticking of my father in my palm and not in my ears, my soul; I can do this.

Blood drains from my face, I run to the sound of midnight gun shots and every flash of lightning is a flash of Ridley, two fingers to her head - Micheal, his name was Michael. I can't speak his name, not past gross heaves and hiccups and it's all I am. Carmody, a rabbit heart, a girl in a gunshow and my hair drops past my eyebrows; Carmody. I can't do it, I can't and I gasp for hair between the fingers on my mouth - I can, I try.

I try to hear it in his voice, I try to push my hair up and to straighten my jacket, to breath on tempo to the sound of raindrops - it's too much, it's all too much and it can't stop but neither can I, I can't stop.

The gate slams behind me, like a shock the way my hand slaps the metal as hard as I can, the soles of my feet striking the feet to the tempo of an asthma attack coming. Carmody. I lean on the old brown bricks of the orphanage; I catch my breath first, I'm okay, I tell myself, in his voice I whisper it in my ears that it's okay that I can. And I push my hair behind my head, wet and soggy and disorganized and I'd rather be bald. I try to catch my breath, but I trip on the pavement. Gross and ugly and sobbing and I slid down the brick wall, scratching my over sized jacket and I remember that I can't.

That there's nothing about me that's fixed, it's all unorganized and ugly and I shudder at the lightning -- "shot by a peacekeeper." The ticking is dim, a tempo of its own, cold in my hand; "Michael."

He loved me.

I can be okay. I can.

My hand wraps around the handle of the door, propping myself up and tying the pocketwatch across my neck again; "Niles?" A whisper, a tiny pip squeak whisper through a twelve a.m. living room, and there's no response. No echo, no shudder, there's a crack of the sky's anger and I punch the door - "Niles?" They know how to do these things, how to keep breathing.

"Niles?"

Softly, I hear the front door click, cold air circulating and kiss the wet of my skin and he's not here. My footsteps are light, bouncy through the living room and the stairs and "Niles?" a little louder this time. I'm late, I know I am and I kiss my palm; they're asleep. There's no controlling those thoughts and I try not to think much, you see. From my pocket whispers the tick tick ticking I tried to hide and it's the only muffed tempo to beat my heart to so I follow it.

Tick, tock,
tick,
tock,

at the end of time, I'll always have you. I rub my fingertips on the engravement.

"Madds?" I whisper-yell, roar-whisper. The rabbitheart, Carmody, till the end of time. My arm at the fabric of his bed sheet, crouching beside his bed to hide if I need; "Madds-"

"Can you make me giant?" 

[ i do not want power. ]