heartlines { tbd vs. hottra } day 2
Feb 18, 2018 16:52:33 GMT -5
Post by tick 12a / calla on Feb 18, 2018 16:52:33 GMT -5
► ► ►
You don't expect to find peace in this place.
But body on the ground and head pillowed with a bagged weapon, you think redemption might be the next best thing.
Your bones catch a back light, something warm that makes them crack like driftwood. You follow the sparks of a fire, fairy lights drifting up until they mingle with the stars. Faces in the sky, three nameless constellations and one;
JJ -
Johannes.
Twin moons in the sky; something unnatural, and the light catches in your hair, on your face and behind your eyes. Illumination of something monochrome, an old polaroid stuffed under the floorboard, you count to three and ignore the hollow ache in your chest. It's like grasping for purchase in a pond, water overflowing, and you swallow it down like poison, "Caine."
Silence is heavier here, some kind of phantom weight on your skin, and in the hours when the world should be at rest, you jump.
"Tell me" a halting breath "about your family."
You don't know why you still shake.
"I got a large family." He says and you taste childhood, try to count the stars. Cosmic dust and veins of silver, the glow tells you that maybe you were loved once. "Oldest of my brothers, we run the ranch at home. I reckon, he's got his hands full with running it himself. Neither of us expected our names to be called, but life had other plans."
You remember the bathroom, fairy fables and careful hands, kisses that tasted like sticky cough syrup. Something sickly sweet lined up on the counter and you were already backtracking, eyeing an exit when he took your wrist, sugar in his smile and violets in his eyes.
Life had other plans.
You hope that Caine sees his brother again.
"How about yours, bud?"
And then you're silent,
for a long time.
You think of broken glass and hoarse voices, salt water collecting in a wine bottle like pennies. The sky shifts and shakes something loose, drawing shadows through your skull like a stake.
"Not much to tell, really," You seek the North Star, something steady to shelter your words. It's easier here, in the darkness, where you can pretend to close your eyes and talk to a constellation. "Dad fucked us over and disappeared, Mom got drugged out of her mind to deal with it. Then I was left to pick up the pieces before she ran off with some new jackass."
Molded of lilac flowers and and soft powder, you're a creature of circumstance and - "They've probably both kicked it by now anyways."
You've been guided by the promise of distractions for eighteen years, something synthetic to keep your heart steady and your mind silent. Because Riene has never meant anything before now, a wound kept close, poison spit at someone's feet - a prayer you find yourself coming back to again.
And again.
You think of Arlo and how he's probably found something else already. It hurts a little more than usual. "There's no one waiting for me."
You don't care for a reply, squeezing your eyes shut and turning over. An audience of two or an audience of thousands, maybe waking up with a knife in your back wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
But even if you can't sleep tonight, you've always been a good faker.
Morning light blinds you.
Because you used to wake up to lazy slants of sunlight, dust illuminated through a broken window pane and a latch being pulled open. With reflex stirring in your bones, you'd press fingers against your eyelids, relish the golden light. Late afternoon starbursts and too strong cologne, the bed dips low, summer glow f a d i n g. Because you rose when the sun died
Black and blue,
red and violet;
things were simpler once.
You miss not being able to feel.
Because you were never the storm; never the driving force of destruction. The universe won't stop it's perfect path for you, no matter the pockets of stolen stardust hidden in your veins. You've never been the tempest storm, the supernova that burns and blinds and hurts. You're only the aftermath of a calamity; the bitter copper lining after a close call. The first tremor that walks hand in hand with two am shadows.
Hiding from solar flares and bright swinging fists, you are the condor - death's silent follower.
Just a boy, with a name and a pulse, hanging from the rooftop ledge with a handful of syllables and nothing to go home to.
And not for the first or last time, there's something broken in your chest.
The ground scatters crimson like the back-alley murals of home. You take a step, realize they're petals, flowers growing bright against the landscape. Beauty in destruction and death in beauty, something twists low in your gut.
Something moving all low and lifelike, decidedly not a plant, and you stop - grind to a halt. Horizon glimpses and warning signs, all in the wrong language, and "Oh, fuck."
An inheritance of bad luck and worse decisions, more mutts and the reflex in your bones sings, but you're not alone anymore, "Watch out."
But body on the ground and head pillowed with a bagged weapon, you think redemption might be the next best thing.
Your bones catch a back light, something warm that makes them crack like driftwood. You follow the sparks of a fire, fairy lights drifting up until they mingle with the stars. Faces in the sky, three nameless constellations and one;
JJ -
Johannes.
( You didn't even know his name. )
Twin moons in the sky; something unnatural, and the light catches in your hair, on your face and behind your eyes. Illumination of something monochrome, an old polaroid stuffed under the floorboard, you count to three and ignore the hollow ache in your chest. It's like grasping for purchase in a pond, water overflowing, and you swallow it down like poison, "Caine."
Silence is heavier here, some kind of phantom weight on your skin, and in the hours when the world should be at rest, you jump.
"Tell me" a halting breath "about your family."
You don't know why you still shake.
Yes you do.
"I got a large family." He says and you taste childhood, try to count the stars. Cosmic dust and veins of silver, the glow tells you that maybe you were loved once. "Oldest of my brothers, we run the ranch at home. I reckon, he's got his hands full with running it himself. Neither of us expected our names to be called, but life had other plans."
You remember the bathroom, fairy fables and careful hands, kisses that tasted like sticky cough syrup. Something sickly sweet lined up on the counter and you were already backtracking, eyeing an exit when he took your wrist, sugar in his smile and violets in his eyes.
Life had other plans.
You hope that Caine sees his brother again.
"How about yours, bud?"
And then you're silent,
for a long time.
You think of broken glass and hoarse voices, salt water collecting in a wine bottle like pennies. The sky shifts and shakes something loose, drawing shadows through your skull like a stake.
( I hope you're watching this, you bastard. )
"Not much to tell, really," You seek the North Star, something steady to shelter your words. It's easier here, in the darkness, where you can pretend to close your eyes and talk to a constellation. "Dad fucked us over and disappeared, Mom got drugged out of her mind to deal with it. Then I was left to pick up the pieces before she ran off with some new jackass."
Molded of lilac flowers and and soft powder, you're a creature of circumstance and - "They've probably both kicked it by now anyways."
Maybe, you hope.
Maybe you don't.
Maybe you don't.
You've been guided by the promise of distractions for eighteen years, something synthetic to keep your heart steady and your mind silent. Because Riene has never meant anything before now, a wound kept close, poison spit at someone's feet - a prayer you find yourself coming back to again.
And again.
You think of Arlo and how he's probably found something else already. It hurts a little more than usual. "There's no one waiting for me."
You don't care for a reply, squeezing your eyes shut and turning over. An audience of two or an audience of thousands, maybe waking up with a knife in your back wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
But even if you can't sleep tonight, you've always been a good faker.
--
Morning light blinds you.
Because you used to wake up to lazy slants of sunlight, dust illuminated through a broken window pane and a latch being pulled open. With reflex stirring in your bones, you'd press fingers against your eyelids, relish the golden light. Late afternoon starbursts and too strong cologne, the bed dips low, summer glow f a d i n g. Because you rose when the sun died
and business was always easier at night.
Black and blue,
red and violet;
things were simpler once.
And you think,
you miss those times,
you miss being high.
you miss those times,
you miss being high.
You miss not being able to feel.
Because you were never the storm; never the driving force of destruction. The universe won't stop it's perfect path for you, no matter the pockets of stolen stardust hidden in your veins. You've never been the tempest storm, the supernova that burns and blinds and hurts. You're only the aftermath of a calamity; the bitter copper lining after a close call. The first tremor that walks hand in hand with two am shadows.
Hiding from solar flares and bright swinging fists, you are the condor - death's silent follower.
Just a boy, with a name and a pulse, hanging from the rooftop ledge with a handful of syllables and nothing to go home to.
And not for the first or last time, there's something broken in your chest.
The ground scatters crimson like the back-alley murals of home. You take a step, realize they're petals, flowers growing bright against the landscape. Beauty in destruction and death in beauty, something twists low in your gut.
Something moving all low and lifelike, decidedly not a plant, and you stop - grind to a halt. Horizon glimpses and warning signs, all in the wrong language, and "Oh, fuck."
An inheritance of bad luck and worse decisions, more mutts and the reflex in your bones sings, but you're not alone anymore, "Watch out."
--
{ caught in the opposite direction
barefoot on the milky way. }
{ caught in the opposite direction
barefoot on the milky way. }
[ cade riene attacks alpaca #1 ; climbing peg (knife) ]
O5ZCfexKknife
[ stabbed in forearm -- 8.5 damage ]
knife
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