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chapter one bold bravado
She remembers the sky.
She remembers a patch of sky.
She remembers a sky, bright and blue and bold.
Scout Gilbert is bright and blue and bold.
She remembers the trees.
She remembers blood.
She remembers the trees and then she remembers her tongue.
She remembers the birds.
She remembers the damp.
She remembers the damp and the cold.
She remembers her tongue and the damp and the cold.
She remembers blood.
She remembers it not being hers.
She remembers the birds.
It was silent.
She remembers the trees.
She remembers the blood on her tongue.
She remembers the birds, silent.
It was everywhere.
She remembers the sound of the silence.
She remembers the blood in her eyes and on her lips.
She remembers the birds on the floor, chests stuffed, life concluded .
She remembers everything.
She remembers nothing.
Scout Gilbert is a cavern for which silence passes through.
Spores of mould collect beneath her tongue, rotting girl, rotting girl spoiling from the inside out. Her pigeon chest is stuffed with the bravado of a larger bird, of a larger thing. Scout Gilbert can't pull the scream out of her empty shell for the life of her. The life of a thing undead, an oxymoron, a paradox.
