07-28-2016, 09:19 AM
Rent and remade;
She is not as she was.
How?
Her perception has changed - it was subtle, so very subtle and almost skillfully done! - but changed all the same.
Be good.
It is a tender benediction, a kiss from a god to behave and then the bones begin to shake and shimmy all over again. Her eyes grow wide; instead of fear, there is admiration in them and maybe the beginnings of love for all things skeletal and strange. She has done this, the She that cajoled in sweet murmurs to look and love and Stoney does, poor silly stupid Stoney: she looks and she loves, and she is forever changed and remade in Violence’s cruel image. There are no poppies and poems here, only bones and death and Stoney sighs dreamily as she takes a step forward, still doing her mistress’ bidding.
Touch them.
The pintaloosa is close now, and closer still. Her nose is outstretched and her lips ready to kiss the gleaming white of the skeleton and she balks! Her hesitation cements her in place and she quakes, knowing she will feel Violence’s backlash at her inability to obey and a shiver of delicious anticipation curls down her spine. She flicks her gaze to the black girl and utters, “No.” Really, it is a plea to break her further if she thinks about it, but some part of her still looks towards light and happiness and is not wholly broken. Break me, her eyes suggest, break me fully.
Come Violence, do as your name says.
She is not as she was.
How?
Her perception has changed - it was subtle, so very subtle and almost skillfully done! - but changed all the same.
Be good.
It is a tender benediction, a kiss from a god to behave and then the bones begin to shake and shimmy all over again. Her eyes grow wide; instead of fear, there is admiration in them and maybe the beginnings of love for all things skeletal and strange. She has done this, the She that cajoled in sweet murmurs to look and love and Stoney does, poor silly stupid Stoney: she looks and she loves, and she is forever changed and remade in Violence’s cruel image. There are no poppies and poems here, only bones and death and Stoney sighs dreamily as she takes a step forward, still doing her mistress’ bidding.
Touch them.
The pintaloosa is close now, and closer still. Her nose is outstretched and her lips ready to kiss the gleaming white of the skeleton and she balks! Her hesitation cements her in place and she quakes, knowing she will feel Violence’s backlash at her inability to obey and a shiver of delicious anticipation curls down her spine. She flicks her gaze to the black girl and utters, “No.” Really, it is a plea to break her further if she thinks about it, but some part of her still looks towards light and happiness and is not wholly broken. Break me, her eyes suggest, break me fully.
Come Violence, do as your name says.