10-20-2016, 06:23 PM
Panic.
It burns like galaxies and solar flares behind his eyes and down the wrinkle of his spine. It turns him, ‘round-and-‘round, stuck it the immensity of its gravitational pull. Gyrating in orbit with the asteroids and minor moons that cloud his mind with...
(He! Mr. Serious?
Alight’s stalwart toy soldier; a steely, unmovable thing of stellar energy and wakefulness.) In his mind, between the roar of dying and crowning stars, he can hear a god voice command him to turn. To find pine needles and blue hairs, scent them like a hound and seek – that neither she is wrong, but that he had made a mistake, nonetheless, to come to this one first. Perhaps, a grave mistake.
‘Find Alight.’
—and it’s her voice.
He knows that. Honeyed, but thunderous.
For, had Spark not found her brother, first?
But then, that is different. Whether she is clay or wind or rainfall, she is impelled at least in part, by the same-blood that animated them both in womb and then under plain, wide skies. Like the way stars make him electric – and unlike the way he is drawn to Alight. He had once believed it to be the same thing. A cosmic, incontrovertible connection that sewed them together by something more firm that even flesh and sinew. But he had grown out of it, become disillusioned, something Spear and Spark could never do. They could stretch, even come to resent, the leather that bound them. But they could not severe it.
These are undeniable truths.
Alight is not his sister.
(A half truth.)
Malis is not his mother.
(A full truth.)
They are truths that can be fiddled with. Disguised and play-pretend, for a time. They do not mean he loves anyone any less. Except, that he finds himself stilled, unimaginably relieved to see her. “Spark.” his voice is strangely calm, if not stuttered by his ragged inhales and exhales. A force of habit; a stalwart soldier. “I’m fine.” And he finds the weight of Alight feels sometimes all too overbearing.
“You got down, then… safe? From…” his brow furrows, inclining his head ever so slightly to the Mountain, looming, like an oncoming planet primed for collision. “whatever that was.” It feels all wrong to be so unsure. He is the hand that guides the fairytale, keeps it from falling into the dragon’s jaws. “Are you okay?” She looks okay, black-bonnet and slim, touching the whipped places of his body with kind curiosity and concern. “You have been somewhere safe.” It is all he could hope for, having been spit out from the brambles of a black hole, himself.
It burns like galaxies and solar flares behind his eyes and down the wrinkle of his spine. It turns him, ‘round-and-‘round, stuck it the immensity of its gravitational pull. Gyrating in orbit with the asteroids and minor moons that cloud his mind with...
(He! Mr. Serious?
Alight’s stalwart toy soldier; a steely, unmovable thing of stellar energy and wakefulness.) In his mind, between the roar of dying and crowning stars, he can hear a god voice command him to turn. To find pine needles and blue hairs, scent them like a hound and seek – that neither she is wrong, but that he had made a mistake, nonetheless, to come to this one first. Perhaps, a grave mistake.
‘Find Alight.’
—and it’s her voice.
He knows that. Honeyed, but thunderous.
For, had Spark not found her brother, first?
But then, that is different. Whether she is clay or wind or rainfall, she is impelled at least in part, by the same-blood that animated them both in womb and then under plain, wide skies. Like the way stars make him electric – and unlike the way he is drawn to Alight. He had once believed it to be the same thing. A cosmic, incontrovertible connection that sewed them together by something more firm that even flesh and sinew. But he had grown out of it, become disillusioned, something Spear and Spark could never do. They could stretch, even come to resent, the leather that bound them. But they could not severe it.
These are undeniable truths.
Alight is not his sister.
(A half truth.)
Malis is not his mother.
(A full truth.)
They are truths that can be fiddled with. Disguised and play-pretend, for a time. They do not mean he loves anyone any less. Except, that he finds himself stilled, unimaginably relieved to see her. “Spark.” his voice is strangely calm, if not stuttered by his ragged inhales and exhales. A force of habit; a stalwart soldier. “I’m fine.” And he finds the weight of Alight feels sometimes all too overbearing.
“You got down, then… safe? From…” his brow furrows, inclining his head ever so slightly to the Mountain, looming, like an oncoming planet primed for collision. “whatever that was.” It feels all wrong to be so unsure. He is the hand that guides the fairytale, keeps it from falling into the dragon’s jaws. “Are you okay?” She looks okay, black-bonnet and slim, touching the whipped places of his body with kind curiosity and concern. “You have been somewhere safe.” It is all he could hope for, having been spit out from the brambles of a black hole, himself.
![[Image: Gn7EN0n.png]](http://i.imgur.com/Gn7EN0n.png)
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