10-12-2018, 04:34 PM
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I'm going to throw roses in the sea,
undo myself in waves higher than birds
remove paths that already walked in me like roots...
</i><br/>- - - -
Above the clatter of undead bones and the snap of undead teeth rises a different sound. Dark shadows move forth, destroying everything in their wake. They push their way through her docile audience, easily tracking down her sad song which hangs heavy like cemetery fog.
They come and she backs up, uncertain what the rules are to this strange game-- if there are any. One by one they unhinge their jaws and when North looks deep down into the ink-black of their throats, she only sees fire where a heart should be.
Part of her wonders what exactly they are- if they are memories, or ghosts, or all the unlived versions of herself-- but it doesn't really matter, does it-- all that matters is they're got her outnumbered and pinned to the ocean. And they look hungry.
Her throat tightens. Is this what fear is?
They inch closer and closer, dark shadows with sharp teeth. It begins to feel hard to breathe. North could probably fight them off, knows she may <i>have</i> to if she wants to survive... But that is not her way. That has never been her way. She takes a step back and the sea licks wantingly at her ankles. It becomes clear she has a choice to make: violence or death. And with the sudden clarity of her situation, that silver fire in her comes to life. She is not a warrior. Her body was not made to cut others down. And she would not even if she could.
She turns and plunges into the sea.
To her surprise, the water is warm as blood. At first she is blindfolded by silver. Her moon-kissed mane, still full of pearls and sea stars, shrouds her face. She <i>kicks</i>, both knowing and not knowing what she is doing, and as her body surges forward her mane is swept back from her eyes and that is when she realizes- something strange is happening. She is breathing. It is as instinctual as a beating heart. Nobody tells her how or what to do, she simply does it. She is breathing, and she is underwater, and the world has suddenly gotten much, much bigger.
Oh! What it means to have the ocean in your blood, salt in your veins. She becomes bigger than her body, bigger than her ghosts. She turns in the water gracefully, tugged gently by the tide. It ebbs in and out, in and out, and it feels as though she's cradled in the womb of the world and feeling its pulse. Her mind is shifting violently around an idea that she cannot quite put into words, an understanding that can only be felt, never shared.
"<i>mother</i>" she whispers silently, a chorus of bubbles.
(And when she laughs, another chorus of bubbles, it is because she knows not what she is anymore--)
With a graceful kick, her body rises to the surface and her head pops above the water to stare at the beasts on the shore. They're still hunting but their attention seems to have wandered- some of them have taken to gnawing at the more recently deceased bodies, others wander aimlessly among the skeletons. The air feels cold and dry and unfriendly against her cheek.
(but she does know she is angry--)
She opens her mouth to sing again, this time with all the salt in her veins, and immediately the demons scrabble towards her. As soon as they hit the water's edge they are knocked down by the waves. They come at her, again and again, and the sea batters them without a second thought. Any who breaks through the wall of water will be subject to her sharp-toothed mercy-- and when she searches herself for mercy, she finds nothing.
(and she does know, distantly, she is no longer herself.)
- - - - -
<font size="5px">N O R T H</font>
</font></div>
</center>
I'm going to throw roses in the sea,
undo myself in waves higher than birds
remove paths that already walked in me like roots...
</i><br/>- - - -
Above the clatter of undead bones and the snap of undead teeth rises a different sound. Dark shadows move forth, destroying everything in their wake. They push their way through her docile audience, easily tracking down her sad song which hangs heavy like cemetery fog.
They come and she backs up, uncertain what the rules are to this strange game-- if there are any. One by one they unhinge their jaws and when North looks deep down into the ink-black of their throats, she only sees fire where a heart should be.
Part of her wonders what exactly they are- if they are memories, or ghosts, or all the unlived versions of herself-- but it doesn't really matter, does it-- all that matters is they're got her outnumbered and pinned to the ocean. And they look hungry.
Her throat tightens. Is this what fear is?
They inch closer and closer, dark shadows with sharp teeth. It begins to feel hard to breathe. North could probably fight them off, knows she may <i>have</i> to if she wants to survive... But that is not her way. That has never been her way. She takes a step back and the sea licks wantingly at her ankles. It becomes clear she has a choice to make: violence or death. And with the sudden clarity of her situation, that silver fire in her comes to life. She is not a warrior. Her body was not made to cut others down. And she would not even if she could.
She turns and plunges into the sea.
To her surprise, the water is warm as blood. At first she is blindfolded by silver. Her moon-kissed mane, still full of pearls and sea stars, shrouds her face. She <i>kicks</i>, both knowing and not knowing what she is doing, and as her body surges forward her mane is swept back from her eyes and that is when she realizes- something strange is happening. She is breathing. It is as instinctual as a beating heart. Nobody tells her how or what to do, she simply does it. She is breathing, and she is underwater, and the world has suddenly gotten much, much bigger.
Oh! What it means to have the ocean in your blood, salt in your veins. She becomes bigger than her body, bigger than her ghosts. She turns in the water gracefully, tugged gently by the tide. It ebbs in and out, in and out, and it feels as though she's cradled in the womb of the world and feeling its pulse. Her mind is shifting violently around an idea that she cannot quite put into words, an understanding that can only be felt, never shared.
"<i>mother</i>" she whispers silently, a chorus of bubbles.
(And when she laughs, another chorus of bubbles, it is because she knows not what she is anymore--)
With a graceful kick, her body rises to the surface and her head pops above the water to stare at the beasts on the shore. They're still hunting but their attention seems to have wandered- some of them have taken to gnawing at the more recently deceased bodies, others wander aimlessly among the skeletons. The air feels cold and dry and unfriendly against her cheek.
(but she does know she is angry--)
She opens her mouth to sing again, this time with all the salt in her veins, and immediately the demons scrabble towards her. As soon as they hit the water's edge they are knocked down by the waves. They come at her, again and again, and the sea batters them without a second thought. Any who breaks through the wall of water will be subject to her sharp-toothed mercy-- and when she searches herself for mercy, she finds nothing.
(and she does know, distantly, she is no longer herself.)
- - - - -
<font size="5px">N O R T H</font>
</font></div>
</center>