I stare into her eyes, those weathered eyes. Storm clouds brewing at the nape of her neck, lightning arcing through her posture. I stare into her odd, old eyes because I cannot bare to look anywhere else.
Not the tense strings coiling in and through her fingers, making them strong, rigid. Not the coals stuck to the bottom of her feet from where she ran. (On empty plains filled with broken dreams)
Her clothes reek of acid and lemongrass, poison so delicately sweet. Long swaths of the cloth is stained dark purple. Hints of the royal colour tinting her lips. I dare not hear any words she may speak, in fear for my own sanity.
I wish her eyes would close, and her heart would open. It's such a living brightness, glowing like its own sun. Self-sustained supernova paused before the implosion. I am very afraid she'll un-pause, break past the spell that holds her. I would surely die then.
Around us grass dances in the high altitude winds. Thin air swirling in and out of my lungs, rapid fire and tepid. Unlike her breaths which are deep, rich with fervor and solitude. She must have been here a long time if this air does not bother her.
Curiosity burns inside my veins. What is she saying. It whispers, What secrets is she offering?
I take my hands away from my ears, hear the rumble of water off the cliff. She smiles and the ground hisses in discomfort. Drawing itself back from her readied stance, bending the white flowers out of her line of sight. The earth is wise, and I am not. Searching for wisdom and the end of my pulsing rope.
"A storm is coming." she says, her voice crackling, "Death brought upon us on the wings of war."
Slowly I look out over the roiling ocean, over her shoulder towards an invisible monster. It's rising from the water in a mass of black coils, eyes dull, teeth sharp. Gums littered with wreckage, ships and buildings. Even from here I can smell it, like acid and lemongrass.
Where have I smelt that before? I wonder.
She laughs, reaching up to press play. Gleefully watching the explosion resume and the sky burn red in its wake.
YOU ARE READING
Scraps of A Mind
General FictionUnder my feet is the earth, above my small form is the sky. Both seem endless and vast, stretching onwards forever. In between these things are thoughts, rattling around in my brain like a landslide with no direction. Here are some thoughts, the one...
