-- reboot [anise day 7]
Apr 29, 2017 1:23:40 GMT -5
Post by shrimp on Apr 29, 2017 1:23:40 GMT -5
After the cannon comes silence, crows dissipate and when Anise turns, Molly and Raven are nowhere to be found. Gabby's breath waxes and wanes, another lap of the tides before she too, is gone. The seconds tick by, normalizing and centering their pitches.
She sits vigil for a half hour before she paws through Eva's belongings, taking only a roll of bandages to put in her Medkit. It leaves her with an unease in her stomach, as she watches strands of Eva's hair tremble in the soft wind. When Molly died Anise was in agony, unable to remember what she did or when she did it. When Raven died she hadn't turned to watch Gabby sift through her winnings. And when Gabby died...
It's strange, how one becomes so unnerved to touch the remnants of your consequences. She uses the last of the needle to stitch up the gash in her thigh, wrapping it with bandages before pauses at the final cannon. Six. Six people caught up in their own nightmares, stuck in a world of melting wax and technicolor.
Anise feels the rest of her axes turn into puddles and rummages for a crayon, pulling out silver that's spun into the same weapon, but larger. Held by two hands instead of a flick of the wrist. She stares at her drawing, sleek and simple - something that's far too rare in this strange wasteland. Thoughts trace back to Salome Izar, the girl from Eleven donned in a dress with sunglasses, a megaphone that screams a familiar tune. Cricket would be pleased, she bets.
She stands, staring at Eva's body for ten more seconds before walking away. There's nothing more than can be done, and apologizing would be lying. When the ground becomes more than paper she sits, observing the bits of rose still dotting the arena. She glances at her arm, the replicas relatively intact - the smallest one's smeared. A pocket whale - the beluga, cautiously emerges, peeping and nibbling at her fingers. The orca follows, powerful and confident. The two of them veer a few feet away, investigating their own set of flowers.
As time passes she feels waves on her cheek, but doesn't bother to wipe it away. Her lungs feel heavy and her heart aches. She breathes deeply, allowing the shudder in her throat to exist, for her shoulders to quake ever so slightly.
It seems, finally, that she's realized the impact of a step. A tumble down a rabbit hole. The gift of a rose. How easily it will disappear.
The feeling washes over, and she allows herself a baptism.
She sits vigil for a half hour before she paws through Eva's belongings, taking only a roll of bandages to put in her Medkit. It leaves her with an unease in her stomach, as she watches strands of Eva's hair tremble in the soft wind. When Molly died Anise was in agony, unable to remember what she did or when she did it. When Raven died she hadn't turned to watch Gabby sift through her winnings. And when Gabby died...
It's strange, how one becomes so unnerved to touch the remnants of your consequences. She uses the last of the needle to stitch up the gash in her thigh, wrapping it with bandages before pauses at the final cannon. Six. Six people caught up in their own nightmares, stuck in a world of melting wax and technicolor.
Anise feels the rest of her axes turn into puddles and rummages for a crayon, pulling out silver that's spun into the same weapon, but larger. Held by two hands instead of a flick of the wrist. She stares at her drawing, sleek and simple - something that's far too rare in this strange wasteland. Thoughts trace back to Salome Izar, the girl from Eleven donned in a dress with sunglasses, a megaphone that screams a familiar tune. Cricket would be pleased, she bets.
She stands, staring at Eva's body for ten more seconds before walking away. There's nothing more than can be done, and apologizing would be lying. When the ground becomes more than paper she sits, observing the bits of rose still dotting the arena. She glances at her arm, the replicas relatively intact - the smallest one's smeared. A pocket whale - the beluga, cautiously emerges, peeping and nibbling at her fingers. The orca follows, powerful and confident. The two of them veer a few feet away, investigating their own set of flowers.
As time passes she feels waves on her cheek, but doesn't bother to wipe it away. Her lungs feel heavy and her heart aches. She breathes deeply, allowing the shudder in her throat to exist, for her shoulders to quake ever so slightly.
It seems, finally, that she's realized the impact of a step. A tumble down a rabbit hole. The gift of a rose. How easily it will disappear.
The feeling washes over, and she allows herself a baptism.
