09-29-2021, 10:26 PM
She is like a wound coil waiting to spring, always, but especially now.
The echo of her mother’s voice has long since faded behind her and the banana fronds she brushed past have stilled. She looks forward, instead, to the soft pinks and yellows of the tender blossoms spread across the gentle slope of the meadow. She comes as she was born, a stormcloud-grey with a splay of black stripes down her length. Her pale turquoise eyes crinkle at the edges when she thinks of all she could have been instead, anything but herself.
She moves in closer, just a girl.
Just a girl. Just this time.
Night is creeping in around the edges, sending long shadows to sweep the ground when the tree branches sway. Arrowe moves through these, moves like she is stalking prey even when she is not. There is a tension that sits like another soul atop her shoulders that she cannot shake off. She is always ready to move, to change, and to hunt. She doesn’t like this about herself, but it is not something readily changed.
I will be different, she tells herself and straightens when she realizes her posture has dropped too low. This isn’t the jungle. There isn’t the buzzing undercurrent of ferocity that exists on the island born of necessity. Being all alone in the middle of the sea breeds a stronger type, her mother had told her, because there is no one else to save them but themselves. Here, they are simple, like a careless flock assuming that there is safety in numbers. Assuming that there is no threat among them.
Arrowe moves in on one that has strayed towards the treeline on hooves that have become the paws of a panther. The other’s back is towards her so she stalks almost silently closer, ever closer. A warmth pools in her stomach, a nearly indescribable rush of anticipated success. Fangs poke out of her mouth as she comes within a few yards, a few steps. She reaches her neck out –
- and says, “Boo.”
The echo of her mother’s voice has long since faded behind her and the banana fronds she brushed past have stilled. She looks forward, instead, to the soft pinks and yellows of the tender blossoms spread across the gentle slope of the meadow. She comes as she was born, a stormcloud-grey with a splay of black stripes down her length. Her pale turquoise eyes crinkle at the edges when she thinks of all she could have been instead, anything but herself.
She moves in closer, just a girl.
Just a girl. Just this time.
Night is creeping in around the edges, sending long shadows to sweep the ground when the tree branches sway. Arrowe moves through these, moves like she is stalking prey even when she is not. There is a tension that sits like another soul atop her shoulders that she cannot shake off. She is always ready to move, to change, and to hunt. She doesn’t like this about herself, but it is not something readily changed.
I will be different, she tells herself and straightens when she realizes her posture has dropped too low. This isn’t the jungle. There isn’t the buzzing undercurrent of ferocity that exists on the island born of necessity. Being all alone in the middle of the sea breeds a stronger type, her mother had told her, because there is no one else to save them but themselves. Here, they are simple, like a careless flock assuming that there is safety in numbers. Assuming that there is no threat among them.
Arrowe moves in on one that has strayed towards the treeline on hooves that have become the paws of a panther. The other’s back is towards her so she stalks almost silently closer, ever closer. A warmth pools in her stomach, a nearly indescribable rush of anticipated success. Fangs poke out of her mouth as she comes within a few yards, a few steps. She reaches her neck out –
- and says, “Boo.”
arrowe
