| | Husks and bits of twig, marked with smeared grime and spoken lies.
Bound together with ever-present basketball shorts and a look in the eyes, smile-rage-smile-rage.
When your own actions result in everything you love being taken from you, it's difficult in a way that words fail. Even though there's some part that knows what you did was brave, that it freed you and the younger ones, that small island is overwhelmed by the deluge.
Oh God I'll never see them again it's all my fault I should have never said anything if I didn't then we wouldn't be apart I need to tell him I'm sorry don't you dare say anything bad about him he did the best he could someone abused him too.
Yeah, they did. You're right. But he still let the insects out. They still ate the forest down around you. Fists and wind and the hurricane of teeth and horror and pain. The old trees, and even the youngest ones? Gone. If anything's left, it's been carried away in the name of protecting, intended for replanting by those who barely understand horticulture in the first place.
We're guessing at best, and I'm looking down this long barren land, holding pieces together when I can surface myself. The mud's thick here, and as it's mixed with the ash of years, it sucks your feet down. The boots are lost even as woolen toes cling to them.
Curl in the corner. It appears to be rest, but I'm willing to bet it's preparing.
Twigs can still be used to beat back fires and storms and further loss, winging its way close and nearer and further now. I know this in theory, and all the great soothing statements tell me so.
I'm hoping, but it's a grim hope.
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| | Posted 11/15/2007 9:12 AM - 167 Views - 8 eProps - 4 comments
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