it is not a question of memory [alfie; day six]
Nov 28, 2017 10:43:21 GMT -5
Post by heather - d2 [mylee] on Nov 28, 2017 10:43:21 GMT -5
i run water over fear
a descant for recollection
a slow drip down this nose, lips, chin
down through the shoal of impulse
I am convinced that I exist in a vacuum full of memories reoccurring with slight alterations. I swing, strike hard, step back to admire the view.
This is all it takes for the creature to spring to life, slashing forward at an alarmingly quick pace until one of his blades has made contact with my own skin. The pain is sharp, needle-like, a projection of violence upon flesh that does not feel as devastating as the the gift from the girl the previous day.
What stands in front of me now is a war much more dangerous than that of the day prior. This is a battle of mechanics— of surveying the gap between emotion and program and deciding who is better off here.
He has never left this place he calls home / I do not know if I have ever had one.
My spear has clattered to the floor, and my remaining hand has come to rest beside it. It is not the site of this that causes my head to spin, but the sight of blood drowning out the remaining specks of hope that traversed my body.
The blood that has poured from my wound has, quite literally, drained me of the morning sunrise.
With this in mind panic begins to rise in my throat— I want to call out for Ansel or Daniela, praying that one of them would sweep aside the barriers of wheat around us to finish the job.
They have always been more than I could ever be; they have always kindled the fire while I have only collected the materials. Their tongues never caught in their throats in the face of danger, and I am here, kneeling in the dirt and choking on my own tears.
A cannon sounds.
In mind I believe it may not be signaling the death of another— I believe it is simply the precursor to my own, the affirmation of my own doubts and the signal that my time has run out.
I am only as good as the people I surround myself with.
Alone, I am but the boy who hid under his staircase; the boy reading books by the moonlight and wondering why alone was all he had.
Why those nights were nothing more than foreshadowing to this— to finally dying in body to match the mind that has existed in the same all along.
I am still kneeling, and so I lean forward to maneuver the spear into the crook of my left elbow with a still living stump of flesh. Pain shoots up my shoulder and I begin to bite my lip, trying to let it fall to the wayside until I can bring myself to both feet.
When I arrive, blood trickles from the corner of my mouth
And my left arm
And my right.
The creature in front of me may be a monster all crafted mechanics and stitching, but I am not far behind.i'll flux into history
but first let me fuse language,
anguish, touch-- give me time
to settle with what anchors shade to this face[ dars ]
[alfie attacks scarecrow scully; spear]
B4MwKbJAspear
[deep gash on right forearm -- 8.0]
spearB4MwKbJAspear
[deep gash on right forearm -- 8.0]