gildedspine
I watch mutely as Doug scatters the gasoline around us, in a circle of protection, slick oily Holy Water that is supposed to keep the monsters at bay. Above us, the sky is blood red. The buildings are silent, indifferent sentinels. I wonder if it will hurt when the flames lick against my skin. The fire has always looked pretty to me, like orange-red-blue flowers, but I was never allowed to touch them before now.
Red is hysterical nearly fifty percent of the time. The rest is either divided between rapturous fits and paroxysms of rage. She never does anything by halves.
I'm pretty surprised when, catching sight of Jack's mutant pod creatures, she doesn't say anything. Well, even if she wanted to, I don't think she'd be able to. She just stands there, mouth agape with whatever she wanted to tell me, eyes bulging at the seams, staring at them.
Jack looks pleased as punch. I could slap him.
writing since 2011 · 2 entries · 2 days shown up
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