halfwitamerican
It happened suddenly. Wet. Warm. Wailing from the cold.
Fluorescent bulbs hummed dully in the background. The library was quiet enough at 3am to enable you to hear them over the sound of your own studying. Or maybe he was losing his mind?
The horse lifted its head from grazing, tangles of grass and clover falling from its mouth. The steady rhythm of its molars was a familiar and peaceful sound, like waves crashing over rocks or the shush of a far off waterfall. She lay on her back, shirt damp with earth, with her eyes closed and felt, rather than saw, the horse return to grazing.
The girls kicked high, as though trying to reach the stage lights with their toes. Singing, smiling fiercely like sirens thirsting for the blood of sailors, they closed in from the stage to the floor in a vicious can-can, as predatory as the skulk of a large feline but light and airy as the flight of a bird. How was it possible that women could inhabit such seemingly diametric roles, he wondered silently.