05-31-2018, 01:56 PM
He does respond to the invitation, and an icy finger of nerves runs down the back of my neck. This is not a good sign. They usually come without hesitation, and those that do not are the type that have left the deepest of scars on the soft yellow of my skin. At first I'd tried offering again, but what I (by now) give without thought had not been what they truly sought. Though I have tried, and tried terribly hard, I cannot understand their sadism. It is not an emotion I have felt and so is not one I can grapple with, pick apart, inspect. It is a mystery, and one that I do not want to experience again.
Why can't I just have my warm dream?
The stranger comes closer, and I feel my belly tighten involuntary, my muscles tensing as I wait for the first blow. It doesn't come though, just his odd riddles about prey and predators.
"I don't want to become a predator." I say sharply, the words surprisingly clear despite the fear the holds tightly to my throat. "I just want to be left alone."
I am not usually so bold, and never with strangers. Perhaps my interactions with Kwartz have emboldened me; I certainly have enough practice mouthing off. Better to curse than cry, I tell myself during those times. A princess does not cry. Rage is easier to process than sadness anyway, and far easier than dealing with the gaping cavern of emptiness that I so carefully traverse the edge of.
Why can't I just have my warm dream?
The stranger comes closer, and I feel my belly tighten involuntary, my muscles tensing as I wait for the first blow. It doesn't come though, just his odd riddles about prey and predators.
"I don't want to become a predator." I say sharply, the words surprisingly clear despite the fear the holds tightly to my throat. "I just want to be left alone."
I am not usually so bold, and never with strangers. Perhaps my interactions with Kwartz have emboldened me; I certainly have enough practice mouthing off. Better to curse than cry, I tell myself during those times. A princess does not cry. Rage is easier to process than sadness anyway, and far easier than dealing with the gaping cavern of emptiness that I so carefully traverse the edge of.
