Marra's POV:-
Imagine you have been scolded by your parents for eating a cake late at night, or something like that. You are totally bummed out. However, the next day, they get a bigger, better cake for you, your favorite type even, and let you eat it whole. As messily as you like.
That’s how I feel as Es sits upright with a jolt, breathing.
Breathing.
I’ve never heard her breathe. She never used to, before.
It sounds like music.
Her breathing is to my ears what a picturesque mountain vale is to the eye.
I take her hand in my own. She recoils away from the touch, standing up with wide, shocked eyes and looking at her hands like they’ve just murdered an infant.
Then she examines her legs, moves them around. Stamps a bit. Humming all the while, oh yes, never stopping to hum. As though not knowing how.
Then she loses her balance, new to the whole walking on human-legs deal, and trips. I act quick on my feet and she falls right into my arms. Her weight is a blessing. It feels good to be able to touch her. Feel her. It feels magical, in fact.
Cliché, I know. But it is what is.
'Marru-parru,' she says as she hums. An inconsequential hiss escapes her throat.
'Es,' I say, and then both of us fall silent. I get it, she gets it, why waste words?
After all . . . we are one, and one are we.
YOU ARE READING
Sort of Dead
Humor**This book features short, fun, snappy chapters** **Perfectly fine as a standalone** [Caution: may pack a couple of gutpunches.] "First things first: this is the story of how I die. Over and over again." __________________________________ Marra is...
