ravenmcasey
Catcher in the Rye. I want to catch the raindrops out there in my hands. I want to feel the cold, slippery gelatin of rained-over raindrops fall between my fingers. I want to touch the budding weeping willows that are coating in this goo. I want to catch it in my mouth.
There's scarcely anything in there; it's black and empty. The bubbles have disappeared for the time being, and the mary janes have worn off her feet. Replaced with converse. Or heels. But there's scarcely anything in that bag. Time to start over again.
He snuck out of it, wiggling his little rump until it, too, could squeeze through. Everything was huge, here. The carpet was endless. The walls were higher than he had ever seen.
"There's gonna be any awakening, man--th-th-the 18th." His body swayed; his words staggered.
"What do you mean? What kind of awakening?"
He shook his finger in front of my face. "We're all gonna realize what the fuck we're even working for, man."
She said she couldn't relate to them--the curve of their petals, the rigidness of their stems. She said she was different.
They disagreed, but she floated past them, her long curls suspended in mid-air for a millisecond before they draped back onto her shoulder blades.
"What's it like out there?"
"Hot, sticky and never victorious."
"What about when you win?"
Silence. "No,"
She told him to go sit and think. So he meandered over to the corner, purposely looking as if he didn't care. He slumped down, back to the wall. And he thought. He thought of cloaks and clocks and dragons and baboons.
Paper is stacking behind my eyelids. Intangible paper but paper nonetheless. Paper of my identity within the next few years. Paper of reality--my own tangible realness, yet it's as thin as linen and it feels like it's slipping through my fingers.
"My stair-ee" is how I read that word. My-art. I need to paint more. Swirl the brush around, feel the oil on my fingertips. I miss it.
Absorbant. Little fingers poke through the holes, grabbing at the other side. Only suds live on the other side, though. Tiny bubbles that you can't even pop. The kids are sorely disappointed.
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writing since 2011 · 19 entries · 18 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Raven showed up.
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18days written
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the words Raven reaches for
paperbodyfingerslivebehindeyelidsfingertipsmetalbubblesconcernroomcarefeetgonnaawakeningscarcely