Peskiper
An escape leads to another trap. It's the fleet in between. The plane of space, lasting only a time's breath, where we float in freedom.
What was about it, this unbearably sly promise he had slipped between my lips. As though a promise that I could not speak, and yet it speaks through me and within me, remaining only in my ears, alas.
In the depth of their animosity, there is a curious, codependent calamity that lies between them. An forbidden creation rising from this desolation they call mutual hatred.
Consumed by a need to fix this insipid boy with a firm scolding on self preservation, he stilled himself and told his conscience instead that it wasn't the nature of an educated misanthrope.
He was made of sharp angles, crystals that bite the skin at the smoothest touch. No one ever tried. No one ever dared. Except this one, who would bleed just for a caress.
When eyes found her and the floor was sheet white, as empty as the sky and the walls, and she was the only color, she being what she was, only bloomed and bloomed as she coiled.
The state of things between them was going an unusual familiarity for him. It was this intricate and paradoxical framework that joins together opposing forces that can never BE without each other.
There wasn't a point in their conversations that cuddled him in comfort. Yet, she was amenable. And a moment passed that gave him that thought that maybe it was that strange kindness, so unknown to him, that made her dangerous.
The beating swayed him to drop in directions, in perfect view of their faces. The faces for which he was taking in silence every hit that could mean his death. In the final blow that did it, he fell upon the latitude that made him watch the others being butchered.
The hardest was to look over one's shoulder. The past belonged on the impression on the dirt his shoes had left behind. To backtrack and dirty his feet again a second time would be a journey too unsettling and condescending.
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