F L E E T

fleet (v) : to cause time to pass usually quickly or imperceptibly

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To Oliver, Adam is complex.

To Adam, Oliver is simple.

And that's how they make a fool out of themselves.

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Oliver is a mess of long limbs. A game no one ever finishes - level after level gets harder, level after level there's an increasing amount of frustration, sighs and fatigue. She's always running, and she is never caught. Even the wind is wheezing trying to hold her by her ankles. And she laughs loud and smiles wide, adrenaline pumping through her blood and impulse is her gas, with feet always itching to keep going without a destination in mind. Everything is a blur when she wants it to be focused, but what is there to do? She isn't reckless, more like doubtful. Because she hurts people and people hurt her and if she runs fast enough, the pain will never be able to catch up.

Adam knows what he wants. And what he wants, he gets - most of the time. His eyes are calculative, and his tongue knows words that command, words that plead. With a face you can trust and hands so soft they feel right, he slithers in a way you never notice. Time, to him, is only relative, so he saunters too much for his own good. Consequences are just challenges he's always ready to take head-on. There is pleasure in seeing the future - what will happen, what might happen, how can he adjust it or adjust himself right into it - and he never fails to prepare and dive right in. That was who he was. There was always an intention. He never fails. God forbid he fail. If he does, he just might bring hell on Earth.

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Copyright ©2016
by Alex Kristianne (AKD/kruschun)