Words, you know, have always betrayed you. They are slippery and inconsistent — they have variable meanings. They are not anything that you, yourself find any sort of affection for. In fact, it causes you frustration. Frustration, that bubbles up in the chest even now and causes your lungs to heave about the ache and the inevitable worry that drives you to the landing.
You know these stairs well. Your eyes are sharp, though tired. You can see the banister at the right clearly. You lift your hand and know that you are small for your age. The only proof of your most current growth spurt is the fact that you can more comfortably settle your palm around the polished wood as you work your way down the steps and to the ground floor. Further, almost as if the image has slid sideways as though grains of sands through the mouth of a jar.
The sweet smell of night flowering trees and shrubs is sweeter down here.
The front door opens, then closes. And then? You are outside too.
The girl from before is trekking her way across the cobble of the courtyard. Her small back is straight, her shoulders held high and determined.
It is dangerous to be alone at night. Especially for you. Especially for her. You know this very well. Something rumbles in the depths of your memory (an explosion?). Your heart patters, rabbit quick against your side.
You open your mouth — and this time, your words seem to obey you.
What do you say? How else do you intend to get her attention? ]
no subject
Words, you know, have always betrayed you. They are slippery and inconsistent — they have variable meanings. They are not anything that you, yourself find any sort of affection for. In fact, it causes you frustration. Frustration, that bubbles up in the chest even now and causes your lungs to heave about the ache and the inevitable worry that drives you to the landing.
You know these stairs well. Your eyes are sharp, though tired. You can see the banister at the right clearly. You lift your hand and know that you are small for your age. The only proof of your most current growth spurt is the fact that you can more comfortably settle your palm around the polished wood as you work your way down the steps and to the ground floor. Further, almost as if the image has slid sideways as though grains of sands through the mouth of a jar.
The sweet smell of night flowering trees and shrubs is sweeter down here.
The front door opens, then closes. And then? You are outside too.
The girl from before is trekking her way across the cobble of the courtyard. Her small back is straight, her shoulders held high and determined.
It is dangerous to be alone at night. Especially for you. Especially for her. You know this very well. Something rumbles in the depths of your memory (an explosion?). Your heart patters, rabbit quick against your side.
You open your mouth — and this time, your words seem to obey you.
What do you say? How else do you intend to get her attention? ]