wordgypsy
The man with the top hat smiled, a glimmer in his eye as he glanced over the chaos he had wrought. With a flick of his gloved hand, he conjured an image of the girl. The savior. "Behold. She is coming." He whispered as he set off the fireworks that were to be seen throughout London skies. The insurrectionist was dead.
"Help, I need somebody! Help! Not just anybody..." Mira sang along to the radio, warbling as loud as her sore vocal chords would let her. To her, the fact that she was tone deaf didn't really matter-- she was enjoying the rough wind of the cars streaking past and the whirr of the over-worked air-conditioner of her beaten up Honda.
Fear was like a curtain around her small bones, wrapping her in comfort like a blanket. Strange, that such a harsh emotion should come to be her most faithful companion, her dearest friend. Often, her only companion. What wonders she knew, trapped beneath the wool-cloak-straight-jacket. Grasping, writhing, gripping.
"It's just a trial. Just a simple trial."
"There's no way I can win. You know that. You've sent me down a death spiral."
"A death spiral? Look at you-- talking like the royals already. Metaphors. Bah."
"Just because I'm educated doesn't mean you have any cause to mock me."
"You're educated because I said you were. You're everything now, because I said you were. WIthout me, you would be nothing."
and the music fills my ears, resonating deep within my soul. i can't escape the chords of melancholy nor the plucks of happiness. but often the deeper nest is left, the fear, the darker hollow sounds. i won't be safe from emptiness.
"Your ego is as big as hell."
"Let's hope you're not claustrophobic." I smirked. He knew I had him.
"Man. Wh-"
"Woman. Don't be sexist."
As the honey-smell wafted up her nostrils, she inhaled deeply, the pleasing whiff sending heady chills down her spine. Ah, but that is so cliche, no? The pleasing scent filled her with ecstatic contentment.
It made a clicking sound as she twisted the silver thing around the bolt. "I've never been a handyman," she sighed. His hands enveloped hers and he sat there, close to her, his torso against her back, and he smiled. "You just..." he shrugged, "it doesn't even matter." Laughing, she turned to face him. "You're only trying to help me so that you can be close to me, aren't you..."
"Our book!"
"What about the book?"
"Someone wants to publish it!! We're going to have it printed!"
"We're going to be famous!"
"Awesome."
"Sir! They're in!" Jeremiah Huntz scrambled from the bottom of the stairs to the well-lit office aria. Frazzled, the boy had had zoomed up the stairs in a frenzy. "Sir!"
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writing since 2011 · 15 entries · 15 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Alli, showed up.
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