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one for the road; curse v shelby [day five]
Apr 8, 2017 23:38:32 GMT -5
Post by heather - d2 [mylee] on Apr 8, 2017 23:38:32 GMT -5
s h e l b y ♔ l e v i a n e
Show me the stars and
Pass me the sun.
Every promise I make
Cocks another gun.
Take hold of the bullets or
I’ll pull the trigger
Vengeance is nothing but
Envy still driven.
The night that falls is all too similar to the one prior, and the only way I can bring myself to tell the difference between the two is that the bottle of tequila once full now sputters empty and spits a single drop into my palm. There is nothing but silence at the start, the quiet wrapping itself around me and urging me to fall into slumber. However, there is the whispered reminder that I am not alone here. The two girls from earlier, Gabrielle and Anise, are still somewhere within striking distance.
Thoughts of them fade with the colors of sunset as the anthem takes over the sky, and I am met five faces, four of which are unknown. The only one recognized brings about nothing but guilt for the lack of such, as though there is supposed to be something more taking over my body— a sinking stomach, a clenched fist, a tightened throat. But nothing lingers in this body of mine, nothing but the first signs of a nasty hangover and a numbed sense of humanity.
Raven Barker’s face come and gone leaves me to my own devices.
There is not much to be found here but trembling hands, a quaking heart, and a fear that cannot be swallowed.
And though I have not learned much about myself in the four days that have passed here, I have learned that all time does pass, but it does not bother with healing wounds it does not care about.
My skin is not marred save the gash left by the mutt encountered too recently to be pushed out of mind, but even that has been healed by makeshift aid and needle. It is no longer seeping blood, simply tender to the touch and unappealing by any twist of the eye.
I am convinced there is nothing beautiful left here.
Sitting in silence with my hand resting upon fresh stitches, I am brought out of self-contained spiral by the sound of heavy hands and light hearts somewhere nearby. The voices that follow are not hard to put to names, for they had been heard just hours prior spitting fire and iron. But in the present, they seemed to be turned against each other, passionate and lacking logic.
Eventually the sound of their voices becomes background distraction and I find myself drifting into unconsciousness, confident that their personal predicaments will shelter me until sunrise.
And that they do, for I blink sunlight out of my eyes at the break of dawn. No harm has come to pass, and the only indication of time gone by is the blood that has dried on top of gashed flesh. Wincing with the effort, I bring myself to unstable feet and pick up the couple of belongings I can still call my own. This body included, I hold them tightly in my arms as I take slow steps towards a horizon I cannot call beautiful with confidence.
The ground beneath my feet shifts from luminescent and bursting with color to that of a simpler sense. Transparent and clear, yet still I become lost in the space that my body exists within. I know I am not alone, but at first inspection it seems that my only company is the reflection that matches each step I take of my own accord.
With the passion minutes, it comes to my attention that this is not the case. Misunderstood matter and time brings me standing face to face with another, and suddenly two bodies become four as we are left to hold eye contact as the beings beneath our feet do the same. His face does not strike any chord of recognition in my mind, and I cannot decide if this is to be attributed to the persistent pain in the front of my head from the sight of the empty bottle still kept in my possession or due to a true lack of unknown identity.
I do not speak, for there does not seem to be anything that can be spoken that does not result in breaths wasted.
Instead, I take my last remaining crayon, and mimic actions of the same as I draw a fluid substance onto the end of the golden axe. Followed in succession I take the third and final match and strike it alight, touching it gently to the tip of the blade and watching it set forth a spark that signals my muscles to tense.
I do not know if it will take killing him or his reflection and my own to stop my heartbeat from being the only sound that I can hear, but for once I wish to return to that silence once more.
Pass me the sun.
Every promise I make
Cocks another gun.
Take hold of the bullets or
I’ll pull the trigger
Vengeance is nothing but
Envy still driven.
The night that falls is all too similar to the one prior, and the only way I can bring myself to tell the difference between the two is that the bottle of tequila once full now sputters empty and spits a single drop into my palm. There is nothing but silence at the start, the quiet wrapping itself around me and urging me to fall into slumber. However, there is the whispered reminder that I am not alone here. The two girls from earlier, Gabrielle and Anise, are still somewhere within striking distance.
Thoughts of them fade with the colors of sunset as the anthem takes over the sky, and I am met five faces, four of which are unknown. The only one recognized brings about nothing but guilt for the lack of such, as though there is supposed to be something more taking over my body— a sinking stomach, a clenched fist, a tightened throat. But nothing lingers in this body of mine, nothing but the first signs of a nasty hangover and a numbed sense of humanity.
Raven Barker’s face come and gone leaves me to my own devices.
There is not much to be found here but trembling hands, a quaking heart, and a fear that cannot be swallowed.
And though I have not learned much about myself in the four days that have passed here, I have learned that all time does pass, but it does not bother with healing wounds it does not care about.
My skin is not marred save the gash left by the mutt encountered too recently to be pushed out of mind, but even that has been healed by makeshift aid and needle. It is no longer seeping blood, simply tender to the touch and unappealing by any twist of the eye.
I am convinced there is nothing beautiful left here.
Sitting in silence with my hand resting upon fresh stitches, I am brought out of self-contained spiral by the sound of heavy hands and light hearts somewhere nearby. The voices that follow are not hard to put to names, for they had been heard just hours prior spitting fire and iron. But in the present, they seemed to be turned against each other, passionate and lacking logic.
Eventually the sound of their voices becomes background distraction and I find myself drifting into unconsciousness, confident that their personal predicaments will shelter me until sunrise.
And that they do, for I blink sunlight out of my eyes at the break of dawn. No harm has come to pass, and the only indication of time gone by is the blood that has dried on top of gashed flesh. Wincing with the effort, I bring myself to unstable feet and pick up the couple of belongings I can still call my own. This body included, I hold them tightly in my arms as I take slow steps towards a horizon I cannot call beautiful with confidence.
The ground beneath my feet shifts from luminescent and bursting with color to that of a simpler sense. Transparent and clear, yet still I become lost in the space that my body exists within. I know I am not alone, but at first inspection it seems that my only company is the reflection that matches each step I take of my own accord.
With the passion minutes, it comes to my attention that this is not the case. Misunderstood matter and time brings me standing face to face with another, and suddenly two bodies become four as we are left to hold eye contact as the beings beneath our feet do the same. His face does not strike any chord of recognition in my mind, and I cannot decide if this is to be attributed to the persistent pain in the front of my head from the sight of the empty bottle still kept in my possession or due to a true lack of unknown identity.
I do not speak, for there does not seem to be anything that can be spoken that does not result in breaths wasted.
Instead, I take my last remaining crayon, and mimic actions of the same as I draw a fluid substance onto the end of the golden axe. Followed in succession I take the third and final match and strike it alight, touching it gently to the tip of the blade and watching it set forth a spark that signals my muscles to tense.
I do not know if it will take killing him or his reflection and my own to stop my heartbeat from being the only sound that I can hear, but for once I wish to return to that silence once more.
[shelby leviane draws tar on axe using violet-red crayon and lights it on fire using one scarlet match]
[attacks curse jinx; flaming axe]
X|mvJXa6axe
[block-- 0.0]
1-50
[+8]
accuracy reroll
axe
[im a dumbass who rerolled her fire instead of her axe when she was trying to fix her accuracy please forgive me]
axe�1-50�1-50[attacks curse jinx; flaming axe]
X|mvJXa6axe
[block-- 0.0]
1-50
[+8]
accuracy reroll
axe
[im a dumbass who rerolled her fire instead of her axe when she was trying to fix her accuracy please forgive me]
