01-15-2020, 02:49 PM
He comes armed with a question she cannot answer.
Not really.
Because a name is just that – a name – and what a useless, fickle thing it is. She is Gospel, certainly, but she is more than that, too. She is all the venom that pollutes her murky bloodstream, begging for a new network of veins to lay to waste. She is the way the late afternoon sun glints soft off the scales, diffused because she is a thing that takes and so very seldom ever gives anything in return.
She is a hatred so severe that sometimes it makes her temples throb. And there is something alive in her that she does not quite know how to tame.
And here, in this moment, she is a spitting want to draw him closer. Because he is beautiful, too. And she can tell just by looking at him that there is some great, pulsing darkness in him. How she feasts on these things! How she delights in their darkness.
So, when he does not come closer, she adopts a sweet simper and sidles closer herself. She is not an innocent thing, Gospel. No, not this girl who sank her teeth into her father’s hide the moment she knew they were lethal. No, not this girl who gasped in frantic ecstasy as someone wrapped death around her throat and pulled it tight. But she smiles like one.
“Don’t you know?” she asks and the voice… oh, the voice, dripping with the same kind of warmth that coils neat in the gut when death comes calling. Such honeyed, dangerous comfort. “Haven’t you been looking for me?”
But she is not built for being coy. So, the smile fades and she tips back her head and says, “my name is Gospel.”
Not really.
Because a name is just that – a name – and what a useless, fickle thing it is. She is Gospel, certainly, but she is more than that, too. She is all the venom that pollutes her murky bloodstream, begging for a new network of veins to lay to waste. She is the way the late afternoon sun glints soft off the scales, diffused because she is a thing that takes and so very seldom ever gives anything in return.
She is a hatred so severe that sometimes it makes her temples throb. And there is something alive in her that she does not quite know how to tame.
And here, in this moment, she is a spitting want to draw him closer. Because he is beautiful, too. And she can tell just by looking at him that there is some great, pulsing darkness in him. How she feasts on these things! How she delights in their darkness.
So, when he does not come closer, she adopts a sweet simper and sidles closer herself. She is not an innocent thing, Gospel. No, not this girl who sank her teeth into her father’s hide the moment she knew they were lethal. No, not this girl who gasped in frantic ecstasy as someone wrapped death around her throat and pulled it tight. But she smiles like one.
“Don’t you know?” she asks and the voice… oh, the voice, dripping with the same kind of warmth that coils neat in the gut when death comes calling. Such honeyed, dangerous comfort. “Haven’t you been looking for me?”
But she is not built for being coy. So, the smile fades and she tips back her head and says, “my name is Gospel.”
these violent delights have violent ends
g o s p e l,
