watts. flames and death. spirits down to the crunch of the core of civil and disobedient. flux and flow, between hearts and minds and lovely rainbows of burnt corpses that spurt desperately, restlessly through the unrelenting sphere we call home. watts. ashes, people, ashes, people-ashes.
still were the trees beneath an echo of sun and dewdrops. marie spoke gently through the welts of her innocence, praying that the world would spin a little more slowly. still was the world for a moment in time, still was her heart for a while –