10-14-2018, 08:18 AM
[align=center][div style="width:450px; font-size:8.6pt;line-height:1.2; color:#000;font-family:calibri;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;letter-spacing:.5px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"]It is similar within them both. When one places upon the two might they bare witness to a mirroring, aspects worn until all that is left is undiluted nature, instinct bound in faint threads of thought, memory worn until only the basic structure of previous week is left. Or might it be different stages, mere steps separating them as one lags behind the other, caught in the web of past.
Sil. Broken structure, snow and grain drawn together into a mass which swirls about mind struggling to put reason behind pieces left within the wake of loss, seeking a path worn from previous venture. Yet there is nothing, lack distinct as mind circles itself once more. Within mouth, upon a tongue that is slow and clumsy, it is but a sound. No connection to a person is behind it, worn away until it feels empty, promise murmured into stale air that seeks to hold something more. Edges are wrong, worn until it might fit the place left behind but not quite, shaved too far until spaces are left.
Who is the boy who bares such a name, finds the weight of it settling upon shoulders that seem bone, trembling beneath it all.
To some they are a healer, salvation bound within the structure of teeth shown in sharp frown, words arise from behind teeth. Amongst each had been the sprinkling of easy curses, words meant to fill in where nothing else took root, limited as they had been. There had been nothing there, an empty soul within a frame deteriorating over the cruel trudge of time. How long may one continue such struggles, allow dragging steps to draw them further on with only some small sense of hope, seeking a reason. And what is left behind when it is gone, mere traces of hope colouring thoughts struggling to take form. Caught between it all they had been in a fixed point, left standing still amongst the chaos while more ran through their mind, pulling apart what little they were able to retain.
And then it was gone, shattered so like glass thrown, glittering pieces speaking of harm but pretty in their own way. In someways still they feel it, the clamour as it all broke apart beneath wish uttered in the depth of unnatural sleep, mind dark to it all. Funny was it to receive the help they never wanted, words caught in tight throat, when moments when hurried voice had risen, pleading with the things they thought false idols, ignored screams directed at the sky.
Breath drawn through the cage of teeth held tightly, clenched as the mind spirals through sleep, muscles within the face twitching with the pressure such action needed. Quiet murmur, intake bringing with it soft anguish, coiling about heart that seems a hummingbird caught in a cage. There is no structure to each, drawn in or released through spaces between curved teeth, movement enough to indicate there is no order, rhythm breaking apart as dreams further envelop. Body moves, twisting in ways that leave muscles to scream in protest, unused to sudden jerk as leg kicks out. Contact as paw strikes against wall, flare of pain before it is drawn back, gripping the joint of ankle and knee within savage touch. Yet it is slight compared to everything else, a trivial thing mind dismisses though lids flutter for brief second, gasp fading into murmur of each breath once more.
Beneath closed lid movement is present. Slight is it, twitch brought about as the body too moves, jerk of limb once more. Lips draw back, bridge of nose scrunching until about features toned charcoal a grimace rests, pitiful the whine pulled from their throat. Hints are it all, drawn together to form a larger picture, seeking the last pieces to make it full but it hangs on the edge, lost to them. Though mind left darkened dreams move, curling about in search of each crevice, hidden parts they hold no knowledge of.
But what is there within the wake of absence, loss leaving mind to work through bare threads of thought, shifted and changed, spaces filled with images conjured. Gentle is it, the plucking of gossamer strings spread through out so complex a network, entangling though and memory, working through events of previous moments. And yet time wore upon it all, breaking it apart with careless actions until recall becomes an impossibility, each gentle tug taking fragments, pieces that may do little those first few times but add up. So what tumbles through slumbering mind of the Sage, uttering soft whimpers as it falls away in small pieces, events of only a week or so to draw upon.
Curve of teeth shown in dark lips, drawn away until jagged smile has taken place. About each they see the smear, crimson gathering before they fall, gentle the sound – drip, drip, drip. About face they feel it, sting of pain building, pressure behind eye no longer there to see the slow approach until it is fading, softening. Smile given sweetness, honey and sugar, gentle words spoken in soft hush they must strain to hear. Warmth contained in gold, laughter like a bell raising, gentle tinkle of something silver and delicate. Deepening, gaining to it an edge, gentle laughter a chuckle drawn across the points of teeth. Eyes upon them, moving over each inch as words find purchase in unwilling ears, slash of knife across sharp maw.
Disjointed fragments, broken apart until colours run into one another, scene working into each. Behind it all racing mind struggles to put reason behind such things, give order to a chaos that has no wish to bare such. Inhale, sharp as mind is released from darkness as though a switch has been flipped suddenly, faint whistle of exhale. About closed lids light plays, a swirl of red and pink drawn across the thin flesh, irritating for brief moment before it is blinking. Slow is the raise of the room around them, space left barren. Once there had been a great deal, a life contained in walls another had made – they had made it, assisted by few but theirs, a home their own – pushed aside to make room for them for it felt foreign, these objects of a life they could no longer recall.
“Gold...” Word drawn across a tongue slow in movement, not quite wanting to speak even simplistic structure. Brief was the rise of thought, moving about the snowy static of buzzing thoughts, news quick to circulate. A name, tied to a person faint memory drew upon, sense of something there. Hesitant were they to call such love, might it be admiration or some sense of respect for this person who bore the title of Dealer, and yet such things felt wrong, too thin a line. Then there was the connection to him, a man they held no recollection of and just similar had the feelings been, snatches of something there, wanting stronger words to call their own.
Head turns briefly, catching upon something left a short distance from where they had collapsed upon a pillow, one of only a few kept so they might sleep better. They know well what it is, boxy shape atop strange to them but purpose clear after some time of thought. Within leather covers the pages had been filled with pictures, some grainy and shaky, faces blurred as the one to hold the camera had slipped up, but meticulous was the noting of each. Stuck down securely each page held a single photo and beneath it was a little description of the day or event, names of each person present there, a reminder for this person they seemed to care for who found herself without memory.
Huff of breath escaping pressed lips and slow is the action to lift themself, trembling limbs refusing for a time. How long had they been here, allowing their mind to slip in and out of consciousness. Unbeknownst to them it had been two days, time enough their body had grown weaker, lack of physical activity and sustenance playing havoc upon a body already within a bad state. Pained sound, aching muscle screaming as trembling step is made, but the need is there. For but seconds they stop, give themself time to take hold of the scrapbook before once more they are moving. Shaky movement, shift of weight as leg moves forward, pressing upon foreleg. Next paw moves and on it goes, wood creaking gently beneath each movement. Shamling is it but it is something, enough to draw them towards the door at least.
Creak of handle turning beneath slight pressure, paw slipping from it and they are forced to take a few steps back, almost forced back down as they misstep. Light spreads out before them, heavy the tang of salt, and eye blinks in uncertainty as they look on the beach spread before them. Sound, voices raising yet torn, broken into fragments as the wind took hold. One amongst it all, tone given polite touch yet beneath easy is it to tell the strain, something that tugs at the heart and turns attention towards the small group.
“Goldie,” gentle voice breaks through the silence, a minute transpiring where they perform the necessary journey from their doorstep towards those assembled. Unlike those already here they keep back, linger on the edges as they watch her. Everything feels wrong. Slow twist, pulling the book from satchel about their waist – had they slept with it on, forgotten as it had been before, or had their mind simply viewed such as not important enough to remember. Stepping closer they placed it before her, golden letters spelling out her name with a flourish beneath, shuffling steps drawing them back some. “I am... Sil,” unease within that name, curling about it until it is drawn through the teeth. She had told them this, shared the information within a breath that had spoken of worry, a connection lost to them both now. She had cared for them when within a coma, some other speaking of such, allowing them some small glimpse into a past their mind had rejected.
Worry finds dark eye, comment of her back enough to bring it forth. They hold no knowledge of her but it is their job, a responsibility that weighed heavy upon slumped shoulders, to assist all within need. “No... is not,” whether such comment is directed at her treatment or the fact she seeks to care for herself none may know, hard set to features now. “I'll help, please, easier that way.”
Sil. Broken structure, snow and grain drawn together into a mass which swirls about mind struggling to put reason behind pieces left within the wake of loss, seeking a path worn from previous venture. Yet there is nothing, lack distinct as mind circles itself once more. Within mouth, upon a tongue that is slow and clumsy, it is but a sound. No connection to a person is behind it, worn away until it feels empty, promise murmured into stale air that seeks to hold something more. Edges are wrong, worn until it might fit the place left behind but not quite, shaved too far until spaces are left.
Who is the boy who bares such a name, finds the weight of it settling upon shoulders that seem bone, trembling beneath it all.
To some they are a healer, salvation bound within the structure of teeth shown in sharp frown, words arise from behind teeth. Amongst each had been the sprinkling of easy curses, words meant to fill in where nothing else took root, limited as they had been. There had been nothing there, an empty soul within a frame deteriorating over the cruel trudge of time. How long may one continue such struggles, allow dragging steps to draw them further on with only some small sense of hope, seeking a reason. And what is left behind when it is gone, mere traces of hope colouring thoughts struggling to take form. Caught between it all they had been in a fixed point, left standing still amongst the chaos while more ran through their mind, pulling apart what little they were able to retain.
And then it was gone, shattered so like glass thrown, glittering pieces speaking of harm but pretty in their own way. In someways still they feel it, the clamour as it all broke apart beneath wish uttered in the depth of unnatural sleep, mind dark to it all. Funny was it to receive the help they never wanted, words caught in tight throat, when moments when hurried voice had risen, pleading with the things they thought false idols, ignored screams directed at the sky.
Breath drawn through the cage of teeth held tightly, clenched as the mind spirals through sleep, muscles within the face twitching with the pressure such action needed. Quiet murmur, intake bringing with it soft anguish, coiling about heart that seems a hummingbird caught in a cage. There is no structure to each, drawn in or released through spaces between curved teeth, movement enough to indicate there is no order, rhythm breaking apart as dreams further envelop. Body moves, twisting in ways that leave muscles to scream in protest, unused to sudden jerk as leg kicks out. Contact as paw strikes against wall, flare of pain before it is drawn back, gripping the joint of ankle and knee within savage touch. Yet it is slight compared to everything else, a trivial thing mind dismisses though lids flutter for brief second, gasp fading into murmur of each breath once more.
Beneath closed lid movement is present. Slight is it, twitch brought about as the body too moves, jerk of limb once more. Lips draw back, bridge of nose scrunching until about features toned charcoal a grimace rests, pitiful the whine pulled from their throat. Hints are it all, drawn together to form a larger picture, seeking the last pieces to make it full but it hangs on the edge, lost to them. Though mind left darkened dreams move, curling about in search of each crevice, hidden parts they hold no knowledge of.
But what is there within the wake of absence, loss leaving mind to work through bare threads of thought, shifted and changed, spaces filled with images conjured. Gentle is it, the plucking of gossamer strings spread through out so complex a network, entangling though and memory, working through events of previous moments. And yet time wore upon it all, breaking it apart with careless actions until recall becomes an impossibility, each gentle tug taking fragments, pieces that may do little those first few times but add up. So what tumbles through slumbering mind of the Sage, uttering soft whimpers as it falls away in small pieces, events of only a week or so to draw upon.
Curve of teeth shown in dark lips, drawn away until jagged smile has taken place. About each they see the smear, crimson gathering before they fall, gentle the sound – drip, drip, drip. About face they feel it, sting of pain building, pressure behind eye no longer there to see the slow approach until it is fading, softening. Smile given sweetness, honey and sugar, gentle words spoken in soft hush they must strain to hear. Warmth contained in gold, laughter like a bell raising, gentle tinkle of something silver and delicate. Deepening, gaining to it an edge, gentle laughter a chuckle drawn across the points of teeth. Eyes upon them, moving over each inch as words find purchase in unwilling ears, slash of knife across sharp maw.
Disjointed fragments, broken apart until colours run into one another, scene working into each. Behind it all racing mind struggles to put reason behind such things, give order to a chaos that has no wish to bare such. Inhale, sharp as mind is released from darkness as though a switch has been flipped suddenly, faint whistle of exhale. About closed lids light plays, a swirl of red and pink drawn across the thin flesh, irritating for brief moment before it is blinking. Slow is the raise of the room around them, space left barren. Once there had been a great deal, a life contained in walls another had made – they had made it, assisted by few but theirs, a home their own – pushed aside to make room for them for it felt foreign, these objects of a life they could no longer recall.
“Gold...” Word drawn across a tongue slow in movement, not quite wanting to speak even simplistic structure. Brief was the rise of thought, moving about the snowy static of buzzing thoughts, news quick to circulate. A name, tied to a person faint memory drew upon, sense of something there. Hesitant were they to call such love, might it be admiration or some sense of respect for this person who bore the title of Dealer, and yet such things felt wrong, too thin a line. Then there was the connection to him, a man they held no recollection of and just similar had the feelings been, snatches of something there, wanting stronger words to call their own.
Head turns briefly, catching upon something left a short distance from where they had collapsed upon a pillow, one of only a few kept so they might sleep better. They know well what it is, boxy shape atop strange to them but purpose clear after some time of thought. Within leather covers the pages had been filled with pictures, some grainy and shaky, faces blurred as the one to hold the camera had slipped up, but meticulous was the noting of each. Stuck down securely each page held a single photo and beneath it was a little description of the day or event, names of each person present there, a reminder for this person they seemed to care for who found herself without memory.
Huff of breath escaping pressed lips and slow is the action to lift themself, trembling limbs refusing for a time. How long had they been here, allowing their mind to slip in and out of consciousness. Unbeknownst to them it had been two days, time enough their body had grown weaker, lack of physical activity and sustenance playing havoc upon a body already within a bad state. Pained sound, aching muscle screaming as trembling step is made, but the need is there. For but seconds they stop, give themself time to take hold of the scrapbook before once more they are moving. Shaky movement, shift of weight as leg moves forward, pressing upon foreleg. Next paw moves and on it goes, wood creaking gently beneath each movement. Shamling is it but it is something, enough to draw them towards the door at least.
Creak of handle turning beneath slight pressure, paw slipping from it and they are forced to take a few steps back, almost forced back down as they misstep. Light spreads out before them, heavy the tang of salt, and eye blinks in uncertainty as they look on the beach spread before them. Sound, voices raising yet torn, broken into fragments as the wind took hold. One amongst it all, tone given polite touch yet beneath easy is it to tell the strain, something that tugs at the heart and turns attention towards the small group.
“Goldie,” gentle voice breaks through the silence, a minute transpiring where they perform the necessary journey from their doorstep towards those assembled. Unlike those already here they keep back, linger on the edges as they watch her. Everything feels wrong. Slow twist, pulling the book from satchel about their waist – had they slept with it on, forgotten as it had been before, or had their mind simply viewed such as not important enough to remember. Stepping closer they placed it before her, golden letters spelling out her name with a flourish beneath, shuffling steps drawing them back some. “I am... Sil,” unease within that name, curling about it until it is drawn through the teeth. She had told them this, shared the information within a breath that had spoken of worry, a connection lost to them both now. She had cared for them when within a coma, some other speaking of such, allowing them some small glimpse into a past their mind had rejected.
Worry finds dark eye, comment of her back enough to bring it forth. They hold no knowledge of her but it is their job, a responsibility that weighed heavy upon slumped shoulders, to assist all within need. “No... is not,” whether such comment is directed at her treatment or the fact she seeks to care for herself none may know, hard set to features now. “I'll help, please, easier that way.”