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 Posted: Thu Jul 11, 2013 10:42 pm
He understood the risks. He knew he shouldn't do it, which led him to this point.
He stood as all afflicted stand, steeped in defiance and a scathing knowledge that they lacked the means to overcome their weaknesses. They railed against their bindings in some meager attempt to rectify their situation, and his choices failed to differ. He succumbed to the same mistakes plaguing centuries of men. That fatal flaw skittered across time, only to push him toward his own method of self-destruction.
It seemed eerily akin to his dream.
Despite that, Alois forsook the cane, and it lay prostrate across the old, weathered bench. The handle hooked onto the wrought-iron arm easily. Though it lacked the disheveled marks of overuse, it shared his trials and tribulations. It withstood a great many conniving tricks, several near-falls and a few quiet, desperate moments requiring unfaltering support. It served its tenure, and now it remained forgotten against used, grayed wood.
He stood uncertainly, his weight balanced precariously. His injured leg yearned for a light burden, one far shy of around sixty pounds, though Alois refused to grant himself such a lenient handicap. If he wanted to walk again, he would walk properly. Thus, with every step he winced and his injured leg boiled with scathing pain, and he cursed himself a thousandfold for the amoral whimsy that propelled him into damaging himself so severely. He rendered himself so close to worthless, so close to dead, so close to unwound. And for what? A simple taste of mortality? In hindsight, he found the attempt superfluous, and hardly fitting as a learning experience.
Alois soon adjusted to the writhing pain. It saturated him to the point that he no longer registered it at its former magnitude, and pushed himself to maintain its heavy-handed rage. In a way, he valued entropy and turmoil - was this any different?
Silently he walked between the trees, in the quiet solace of a walking trail, while he abstained from limping. Even as he paused for minute breaks, he refrained from leaning against the gnarled, ancient ash trees that framed the dirt walkway. A smattering of ferns and similar foliage whispered against his pants while he trod down the path, burdened between his own thoughts and injuries. Perhaps if he could just force himself through this trail, then running wouldn't appear an impossibility.
Maybe by forcing his body to cooperate, he might regain more control over it.
How ironic- the lone entity he remained unable to manipulate was himself.
As he continued his trek, he pushed himself to increase the pace: a leisurely walk became a purposeful walk, a purposeful walk became a power walk, and a power walk became an attempted jog. However, he soon discovered his limits reigned him in with unyielding discipline, and he belted out a sharp curse as he felt his stitches come precariously close to ripping. "Scheiß..." He muttered through a pained wince. Carefully he gripped his leg and leaned against the nearest gnarled oak, silently mourning his ability to run.
Unfortunately, he realized, that display did not go unnoticed.
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Posted: Thu Jul 11, 2013 11:26 pm
Micah was running more and more now. It had always been a mechanism to clear her head and allow her to think more effectively, but now… it was like she was reverting back to the days when she had just awakened as a senshi. The Dark Mirror Court was returning, bright and shining with promises of family and support. Things she didn’t get from the White Moon Court. But there was also the threat of Chaos… and, of course, the mirror wraiths were turning on their master. What was with that? Lesath herself, who was the biggest proponent of Acubens’ corruption, warned her against converting, at least for the time being. And then there was that… horrific experience on the rooftop still fresh against Micah’s nerves.
Something ill roiled in the pit of Micah’s stomach right before her nerves dropped to her feet. Or maybe that was all the blood in her system that dropped. She did feel a little light headed at the moment… was that bile in the back of her mouth? Micah cussed and tripped, skidding across the dirt path. She balled up for a moment, clutching her gut to force herself not to vomit. After a moment, Micah tentatively proclaimed herself in the clear and carefully – not too quickly – righted herself.
Well, if you’re not going to let the run do its job, then why bother?
This wasn’t working. And why did she expect it to work? Just like before, the running was only giving her time to herself. It was like giving her mind permission to run through the check list of horrible things. What she needed to do was talk to Misha about this. He would know what to do. Or at least, he would know what to tell her.
After this run. As soon as she finished her circuit – because not finishing would be considered defeat which was unacceptable – Micah would go home and talk to Misha. He would tell her that she was doing her best, and that’s all anyone could ask of her. Which was totally cliché and something everyone in Misha’s position would say, but it was nice to hear. And then he would kiss her forehead and tell her to empty the dish washer or pack because they were moving out in a month or something else that would tie her to normalcy.
It was an outburst in some other language that cut through Micah’s’ planning. Her stomach was still threatening to round house its contents out of her body, but damn it, Micah was still a senshi however much she hated the responsibility. She ignored the visceral protests her stomach made and broke into another run, cruising around the bend and skidding to a halt before the obvious source of the outburst.
“You know,” she huffed, leaning hard on a trunk a few feet in front of the dark haired man, “pain is the body’s way of telling you something is wrong.” She thrust her chin out, pointing in his general direction, guessing “twisted ankle? Rolled knee? Rock in your shoe?”
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Posted: Fri Jul 12, 2013 12:23 pm
"Bug up my a**," he corrected, with a moderately perplexed glare.
Alois thought that a poorly maintained walking trail, such as this one, would shield him from interactions with strangers. By retreating into a heavily wooded area, he might avoid the public eye scrutinizing him for his desperate attempts to return to normalcy. However, as this nosy onlooker proved, those decisions stemmed from a worthless logic.
When the sharp pain in his stitched leg subsided to a dull throb, he straightened up against the tree. Idly he considered checking it, but he may as well be arrested for flashing some boisterous runner. Besides, no one deserved to see any more of him than they already had, this girl included.
He tried to simply walk away from the situation, but his leg protested greatly.
It appeared he remained helpless to her machinations for now.
Perhaps he could make the best of it. "Besides, your statement isn't entirely true. Pain is ze body's way of telling you it's changing. Sink about it - your muscles break down, but why? To grow. And ze mind follows suit - when it endures pain, what better zan for it to alter its current state and become somesing more suited to adversity? You Americans always look at pain as such a bad sing, when it's just a harbinger of change.
Zen again, you hate harbingers as well. Just look at carrion birds." He waved the notion away. He wasn't Bischofite - he lacked the strength to captivate his audience and carry on with proliferous ideals, hoping those seeds planted in his listeners might propagate more iconoclastic beliefs. How could he hope to carry on without that overwhelming power at his fingertips?
Simple: he couldn't.
For the time being, he subjected himself to the company of this strange girl, sporting a brown brillo pad for hair. Her clothing remained a shade lighter than his own, a steel grey contrasting her vivid personality. In any given setting, she'd never net a second look. Despite her actions, she donned the label as the epitome of normal. Cotton shorts, sport bra, unsolicited opinions... What reason did he have to associate with someone like that?
None. So, he tried to walk.
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Posted: Fri Jul 12, 2013 12:48 pm
“It was a joke, son,” Micah growled, yellow eyes flashing suddenly as the man reacted rather toxically to her. Granted, she was used to people not being fond of her, but there were very few times they were so rude. Normally they dismissed her and left. That wasn’t to say this guy didn’t try… Micah’s brow furrowed curiously as she watched him struggle briefly before leaning back against the tree. Under normal circumstances, Micah would offer her assistance but… god that was just so rude. And if there was one thing Micah could not abide, it was rudeness. And uselessness. And childishness. And –
That was all neither here nor there.
He was rude to her, and clearly in pain. And Micah was not. With a wicked little grin Micah pushed herself off of the tree and began to jog in place in the ruse of keeping her heart rate up. She even checked her own pulse. She turned a little circle in place and took a few steps that brought her knees perhaps a little too high. Even through his pseudo-monologue she kept her stationary jog.
“Oh that… now that, is fascinating,” she gushed, face a little too interested. “But I’m from Scotland so…” It wasn’t a total lie, her mother and father both came over from Scotland when they married. She and her brother were born on American soil, but her home was really across the sea. But there was no reason for this man to know that. Her accent still tickled the edges of her voice, selling her story. So she gave an innocent shrug and a took few more steps before she finally stopped jogging in place.
Time to limber up.
Micah, ever flexible, grasped her left foot from behind and raised it above her head. She groaned a little, clearly enjoying the stretch as she pulled her leg flush against her back.
“You know, we can talk smack about Germans too. Naturally aggressive things, always looking for a fight. You put my people to shame.” She switched legs, though this one didn’t come quite as flush against her back. “I also hear you lot have a thing for sausage.” She lowered her leg and leveled him with a knowing look. “Is there a metaphor in there or something, you know, like that ‘bug up your a**’? Come on, this is a safe place, you know.”
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Posted: Fri Jul 12, 2013 1:09 pm
Watching her dance about in an obvious attempt to crawl under his skin only served to irritate him further. She understood full well that he possessed a need to return to his former abilities, and rather than accommodate that, she chose to mock him. She chose to spurn him. She chose to aggravate him.
And he could not, despite all ceaseless yearnings, rectify this situation.
"And how are you so sure I am from Germany, girl? I could be from Austria, or Switzerland, or Luxembourg. Zough I doubted you considered zat, wis' your abysmally narrow view of Europe. I don't care if you're from Scotland or America - ignorance transcends all international boundaries." The nuances between the accents of the differing Germanic countries remained known to only those who claimed German as their native tongue; he doubted this meandering miscreant knew anything of the subtlety between an even harsher Austrian accent and the fluid, rolling accent of the Saarlander that stood before her.
Under normal circumstances, he would oblige her stereotype and show her the ferocity she claimed he had. However, due to his prior machinations, he had recently worked most of the animosity out of his system. No longer did he feel the urge to knife her ruthlessly and leave some carved piece of her entrails pinned to a tree with his switchblade.
She continued to remain an irritant.
His irritated, yet exhausted, golden gaze met hers unfalteringly. "If you want to call me an ornery f*****t, zat's your perogatif'. Lass mich allein*, little girl. You're intruding on sings zat don't concern you." Perhaps it was time to abort his tentative ventures into normalcy, admit defeat, and return to using the cane. If anything, the new addition might allow him to crack her skull open, should she follow him and persist in her admittedly abrasive little game.
Finally he turned toward the beginning of the trail and started his trek back to the bench. He knew he couldn't simply get rid of her, so Alois only hoped she might take the hint and avoid following him. However, as he learned through recent endeavors, a little kindness and restraint is always seized upon as weakness. In a world steeped in restless destructors, his only option was to retain his thorny exterior, lest he intended to remain prey.
*Leave me alone
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Posted: Fri Jul 12, 2013 1:33 pm
As the man’s defenses shot up, Micah’s grin only got wider. This was the kind of fight she could manage. Even with her failings thrown back in her face, she felt totally competent as a verbal combatant. As such, Micah knew how to spin a pit fall. As Alois retreated, Micah jogged beside him, ruby mane tossing with the momentum. She giggled brightly, tossing her face back to catch the light between the leaves, enjoying her freedom of movement. It was like she was a puppy with a new toy, and she knew it. It didn’t stop her. Instead to only chirped, “You’re not wrong, though. You called me American. I could have been Canadian. It’s not like I can expect someone as fresh on free soil as you to understand.” Another bright yelp of laughter before Micah kicked up her speed and circled around in front of the dark-haired man, turning to face him. It served a dual purpose, actually, able to show off more of her abilities to the encumbered man and she could continue her more effective annoyance.
“But the semantics you’re trying to argue are fairly akin to the differences between Eggshell and Dove’s Wing.” Micah pulled a face. “Sort of useless, right?”
Would you like being called English?
That was sort of beside the point, wasn’t it? Micah was fairly certain that Luxembourg and Austria didn’t try and invade Germany and stamp out it’s culture. In fact, it was the other way around. Micah could understand the offence if the man had been Austrian and called German… was that really a thing like the Scottish and the English?
“So you don’t care if I’m Scottish or American except for if you can pitch a fit about something, right? Like my… what was it you basically said… my fear of change? Another rather trivial thing to get hung up on.” Micah twirled on a whim, facing forward this time. And that was when she saw it. That abandoned cane laying sad and unused across the bench. She stopped for just a second and tilted her head, tossing a grin and a wink over her shoulder before she burst into a run, snatching it as she went.
Deftly, she twirled it above her head, mimicking a Grand Marshall.
“Is this yours,” she asked, gaping at the cane in her hands as though she had no idea how it got there.
“Big strong man like you can’t possibly need this. Not with that “I’m Going To Pick Fights With Nice Young Ladies Who Only Wanted to Help” attitude you’ve got there.
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Posted: Fri Jul 12, 2013 1:56 pm
Alois found it increasingly difficult to abstain from attacking the girl. If it wasn't so obvious he was injured, he would've by now.
Momentarily he tuned her out, instead shifting his gaze across the smattering of trees and thriving bushes therein. The light fractured and fragmented across their leaves, spilling across the ground in fits and starts. It illuminated the two of them without discrimination, as they differed little from the trees or the birds or the ceaseless sea of dirt. In all their transgressions, they deserved some equal measure of light, playing across their features.
Maybe that was because they didn't matter.
Alois recognized her unyielding displays of activity were to simply assure him that he lacked an escape. However, he possessed one regardless - he already carried a switchblade, so he could just as easily reopen the wound and be done with her permanently. It made little difference. He made little difference.
It was Bischofite that sought to change the lives of those around him, not Alois. Alois understood the sheer folly of that ideal. Alois recognized that the universe proceeded down its ascertained path, with or without his help. All actions defaulted to inaction. Only Bischofite possessed the hubris to challenge those thoughts, and enact some sort of protest against them. Yet, could such a large dichotomy reside in his own mind? Did power even beget that sort of boldness? That great a change?
The movement of the twirling cane in his peripheral distracted him, and those thoughts were easily abandoned. The girl now usurped his sole method of reliable transportation, and held it as a trophy for their meeting, for her repetitive attacks to his character and beliefs.
Maybe, under different pretenses, her boundless energy might've been endearing.
For now, they fueled his roiling rancor against humanity.
"Take it, zen. When I break my stitches and exsanguinate, zat blood will be on your hands." He didn't bother to delude himself. These discrepancies between two entities existed since the dawn of life - from bacteria to dinosaurs to beasts, the strong devoured the weak in matches akin to these. And from that, the strong thrived. They manifested such displays, reveled in their might, shone in admirable demonstrations while they trounced those lacking all ability for a rebuke.
So he didn't deny it now. She was the strong, and he was the weak. And she would have her victory, despite the costs.
"Zat's what you want, right?" He asked her, gaze studying her enigmatically. He leaned against his arm, against the tree, against the leg that couldn't bear to hold any more weight. Those stitches pulled, boiled and burned. "Your actions spell out zat much. You steal ze sings I need because it causes damage. It causes pain. So eizer you want me to change, or you want me to die." Alois rested his free hand on a bony hip while he spoke, his trivial demeanor providing a large contrast to his words. "So pick one, Liebling*."
*Darling
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Posted: Fri Jul 12, 2013 2:22 pm
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Micah scoffed, leaning on the cane she’d confiscated. “Not everything exists in extremes, that’s just silly. Can you imagine a world where it was kill or be killed?” She peered over invisible glasses with a small smirk, trying to hide the hurt at the accusations. She wasn’t a killer. She wasn’t even really someone who liked to cause pain. If Alois let on just how much his stitches pained him, Micah would gladly have handed the cane back over. It was simply that she could not stand rudeness. And Alois seemed to be the epitome of such things. So, since she knew nothing of his suffering, she twirled the cane against the ground.
“You won’t bleed out. If you were in danger of that, you wouldn’t even be on your feet. Unless, of course, you were incredibly strong but…” she gave him a quick once other and scrunched up her face. “I don’t think that’s the case. You’re probably a few weeks away from getting them taken out and just trying to get a little kick start on your physical therapy. This will be useless soon anyway. I mean, that was impressive distance. I have faith that you’ll heal fairly flawlessly.”
Micah brought the cane up to her eyes to study it closer. She ran her fingers along the wood grain, wondering vaguely at the feeling of it. She wasn’t extreme in her thoughts, but she was romantic, and there was wonder in the smallest things. Even the organic properties of the tools used to aid the healing and the sick. But then, that was what made them wonderful, right? The way they performed the duties intelligent life alone wanted to boast. There was light and hope in all things, wasn’t there?
Even in you, little one?
Even in me.
“I don’t want you to change,” she finally sighed. “And I don’t want anyone to die. Hasn’t this city suffered enough? I only want you to apologize for your rudeness. Then you can have your cane back for the days you’ll need it. I’ll even leave to sweeten the deal. Sound like a plan?”
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Posted: Fri Jul 12, 2013 2:45 pm
Not strong, just reckless.
Reckless with a flippant view on life.
Alois refrained from replying to her unimaginably optimistic views of the world. Instead he slipped the admittedly beaten and battered black phone from his pocket and flipped it open, beginning his search for a telltale photo. He found it with relative ease, and the file information listed a date not terribly far from now. The photo itself depicted an unconscionably gruesome gash, sewn shut with a plethora of sutures. Roughly half of the scar stemmed from an unsteady hand, while the rest mimicked the surgeon's grace. Once he'd found the proper photo of its recovery stage, adorned with bruises and discoloration, he tossed the phone toward the rowdy girl.
"Now you don't haf' to assume." Lying at her feet was proof of his injury, of the arterial repair he endured just to prolong a lukewarm life. In some ways he regretted it, due to being an incredibly heavy-handed approach to the problem of interpreting mortality. In other ways he was ashamed of it, littered with feelings borne from a societal view still ingrained in him. But... he recognized the experience as necessary.
All actions were necessary.
Her offer did not fall on deaf ears, but he only considered it in passing. His apologies held no merit. Shouldn't she seek something far greater than that? Or did she favor aiming low and nailing her hopes to the ground? "I want you to do one better. Snap zat cane in half, if you can. But... Only if you can convince me to apologize." He grinned darkly. Perhaps this situation might yet be salvaged.
Every meeting boasted its own metamorphosis, its own Verwandlung. Each party held the opportunity to partake in it, and often they embarked upon that journey together. However, knowing his own tendency toward entropy and broken stories, he understood that every meeting proposed an opportunity to drag errant souls to hell.
To his own hell.
His own personal playmates.
And why shouldn't he seize that opportunity?
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Posted: Fri Jul 12, 2013 11:51 pm
As the phone landed at her feet, Micah stooped to pick it up, sighing and muttering something about insensitivity to fragile electronics. She turned the phone around and around in her hand, trying to puzzle out what exactly she was looking at. Since she didn’t have a large library of wounds to call upon for reference, she first assumed she was looking at some poor attempt as seam stressing. And while she wasn’t wrong, she certainly hadn’t been expecting that. This time it was she who dropped the phone, yelping in the process. She quickly straightened, cane clattering to the ground as she groped around her mind for something to say. It wasn’t like she had a very impressive vocabulary, proven only too quickly by her chocked off curse.
“s**t. Oooooooh god. Okay. Okay.” Micah repeated her twirl from before, this time decidedly more frantically.
Yeah, spin in place, that should solve everything.
She stopped, mussing her hair before finally coming to her sense, yelping “the cane” as though the thing had only just come into existence before her. She quickly ducked and snatched it up, hurrying to reunite it with its owner. She quickly wrapped the man’s hand around the handle and flitted around him for just a moment before settling back down.
“Ahh yeah… not going to… not going to do that. Like you said, you’ll rip your stitches and… ah the phone!”
Again she skittered around, collecting the abandoned technology to return that as well.
“But I can help you. I’m no physical therapist, but I am a runner. So I’ll make you a small deal. You come back when those stitches are ready to come out, and I’ll get you back on the track weeks before anyone else can. No apologies necessary.”
Confidently, for she knew her abilities as a runner, Micah thrust out her hand to seal the deal. “I’m Micah, by the way. Micah Driscol.”
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Posted: Sat Jul 13, 2013 2:59 pm
He watched with mild interest as the redhead scampered about, obviously disturbed by the image on his phone. She expressed her disgust, and in a curious 180, changed her temperament toward him. No longer was she perturbed by his actions or motivated to seek out empty apologies. No, that course of action soon fell by the wayside, but what claimed its place? Even as he observed her hasty actions, he failed to discern what motivated her toward their course. Concern? Shock? Disgust?
Most likely disgust.
As he learned from repeated malignant interactions, something was inherently wrong with him. He lacked core components that comprised a functional human being, and as a result, others could practically smell it on him. Humans sensed weakness, ineptitude, easily. Whether they embraced it or not, they subconsciously discounted him for those faults.
She may very well be following suit.
"What are you doing?" He asked questioningly. He scrutinized her under his unfaltering golden gaze, trying to glean even meager scraps of information about her through her idiosyncrasies. Alois already pegged her for the energetic type sheerly from the boisterous nature of her tone and her copious demonstrations of athleticism, but outside of that... His primary conclusion pertained to her inability to keep her focus when faced with gruesome scenes. Outside of that, she forsook her requirement of an apology, but why? Because he was injured? Because she saw the extent of that injury? He didn't know, and was disinclined to question her.
For now, he would oblige her. And, apparently, receive his cane without incident. Thus, he placed both hands on the handle and leaned on it while he spoke, still eyeing her critically. "Alois Scholz." However, he did not take her hand. "So tell me, Driscol, why would you offer somesing like zat? What happened to seeking zat apology?"
Maybe you're seeking something else now. Something worthwhile, for a change. Es ist mir Scheißegal. You're still another yearning soul.
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Posted: Sat Jul 13, 2013 9:12 pm
Micah held her hand out for a moment longer before it finally became clear to her that Alois had no intention of taking it. She clenched her fist, trying to quell the irritation brought on by the never ending flow of rudeness out of the boy. Keep it together, she reminded herself. He’s probably only like this because he’s injured. You aren’t exactly bright eyed and bushy tailed when you get hurt either. She huffed a small laugh, marveling at the nerve of some people.
You did start it.
None of the really kept her from snapping, “can’t you just accept and offer without being rude?” She took another deep breath and bowed deeply forward, trying to regain her composure. After a moment, and still bent pretty much double, Micah lifted her head. She took all of Alois in for a moment before she spoke. He was lithe, not really the build of a runner, but maybe he hadn’t previously been athletic. Micah had no way of knowing. He had the same color eyes and she did, which was a first outside of Misha. He must have been very handsome once, or perhaps he still was, if his face wasn’t pinched so. Micah couldn’t decide if it was pain or anger. Finally, she straightened, though it was another moment before she spoke.
“I’m doing this… because I’m not the monster I acted like. And now that I know how much pain you were really in, and you weren’t just being a p***k to be a p***k, that puts me out of line, not you. So… I’m sorry for being so cruel. No one deserves that. And this is how I want to make it up to you.” She shrugged as she finished, shoving her hands in the pockets of her cotton running shorts. “That’s what we do, you know, as people. We help each other. It’s what separates us from the animals. Plus, running is sort of an unhealthy obsession. Any chance to get someone else hooked on it I’ll jump at, you know?”
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Posted: Sat Jul 13, 2013 9:55 pm
"Can't you see zat I'm holding onto a cane?" He returned in equal force. "Or do you expect me to let it go for ze trivialities of a handshake?" He continued to scrutinize her beneathe his stony gaze. The girl possessed a lot of fire, a lot of passion. She wore it in her actions, in her unruly hair, in her vociferous speech. But... As with all boisterous fires, it required fuel. And should he maintain that steady supply, in an attempt to glean even a measure of that fervor...
Perhaps their meeting begat a boon.
With an agitated huff, Alois began the irritatingly painful journey back to the bench. He needed to sit for a while; subjecting his leg to a heavy load for long periods of time wore him down. If she followed, so be it. At least that indicated he'd achieved a fair impression thus far.
Despite her volatile temper, the girl appeared quick to give him the benefit of the doubt. Pain precipitated such venomous retorts. He couldn't possibly rebuke her for fun. He simply couldn't control himself as well under duress. He didn't even have to act the part; Micah easily conjured excuses for him. She practically handed him a plethora of opportunities; she bore them beneath the chains of optimism. She was, in fact, perfection personified.
An attractive appearance,
A positive outlook,
A generous soul.
Perfection.
And for that, he would reward her.
Alois flashed Micah a thin smile. It might've creased from the brunt of his pain, but it evoked his crooked charm. "An unhealsy obsession, you say? So tell me..." He paused as he finally took his seat against the cool wooden slats of the bench.; subsequently his features relaxed. "Why are you so ensralled wis' running, mm? Are you running from somesing, toward somesing? Or do you just like to tear your body down?"
It was time to start the game. "Why would you want to wreck somesing so beautiful?"
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Posted: Sat Jul 13, 2013 11:08 pm
Blood rushed to Micah’s face as Alois complimented her. Her hair hid the most of the color, but there was no mistaking her stupid smile. Damn girl, she scolded herself. It was just a compliment. Don’t get so… Ah, but he called her beautiful. She’d never been called that before. At least not since –
Micah’s smile vanished from her face as her gut took a hit from an unseen source. She struggled for breath for just a moment, focusing on the dirt path to distract her. Breathe, just breathe. Granted, it didn’t hurt as much as it used to but… maybe if she just knew… something. Anything. Micah scrubbed her face, finally regaining her footing.
“Thank you,” she finally said, falling onto the bench next to Alois. No reason to stand, she supposed. “Running though… I dunno. I didn’t want to get into it at first, really. My dad made me do intermural track and field in junior high.” She made a dismissive gesture with her hands and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t want to admit that I liked it at first. And I didn’t right away. I was a fat kid. The training was hard, it was hot out, I was always sweating… it was hell. And everyone seemed faster than me. But then, one day, I was faster than someone. And then someone else.” She shrugged. “I moved from intermural to competitive running in eighth grade. And I’ve been running ever since. Not to or from something just… going.”
She shrugged again, not really sure how to explain it. For a moment her mouth opened and closed, eyes locked on the middle ground between her knee and Alois’.
“It’s just… sometimes things just get… so much, you know? And the pressure from some things is just… physical, you know?” Her hands began moving on their own, gesticulating vaguely at first before her motions became wilder and wilder as she spoke.
“Like a snake is wrapped around my chest and someone has their hand over my mouth and then something start to tickle my legs. Sort of like that restless leg thing, but… different. Deeper. Like not just tingles, I guess but more like… my blood starts singing for it. It’s like my world closes in and compacts until it’s all I can do. Just run.
“It’s stupid, I know. And silly. But there’s something about running because you can, and not because you have to. It’s just you and the road. At first you’re making the active decision to move your legs, but then… and I never know when it happens, but suddenly my legs are acting on their own. Just… moving. I can feel it in my knees, my thighs… my back too,” she gently touched each body part as she identified them, her eyes slowly glassing over. “Aches so small and so sweet. And I keep going, wherever my legs take me. I think its relinquishing control, you know? I’m a student, and I work at a shop, so there’s a lot I have going on, a lot I have to take care of. Running helps me just be… taken, you know?”
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Posted: Sat Jul 13, 2013 11:54 pm
He listened with the patience of the trees, unmoving and unyielding. The words swept through him, curled about him like a breeze, unseen but recognized in their passing. She spoke with a vivaciousness he hadn't heard in a long time, not since he lived in Germany. English failed to deliver that same crisp understanding and deep meaning - nothing mirrored phrases like ganz genau. However, her diction neared that quality. Whether it was propelled by her passions or a mind actively engaged in literature, he could not yet identify.
After she expressed the depth by which running affected her, he steepled his fingers over his cane and rested his chin atop it. Alois shot a sideways glance toward her, almost playful yet not quite honest. "You know what you're describing, right?" That grin widened. "Voluntary self-injury. Your world compresses, you bear ze weight of Atlas, and ze only means for escape is to damage your cage. Shrug or decompose, but you can't let go of your burdens, can you? So it's self-injury."
He should know.
But living is a form of suicide.
Finally Alois sat up straight, rolling his shoulders to work through the constrictions borne from pain. Even as he watched her, he formulated his own conclusions about her expressions. She was running from something, it didn't matter what. Something had her on the move, and if that were possible, if something else could drive her, then what might it take to usurp that position? Such unyielding passion required direction, or it would feed off itself. Extinguish itself.
You can claim your stresses and your faults, your fears and your failures. You can cite some paltry job as the origin, but you'll never know what it's like to hold a life at the tips of your fingers, or to offer the choice of fate to a few fractured minds. You don't understand the gravity of mortality, because your world is grounded in the humming plaguing your thighs. Your life encompasses surrendering to chaos, but mine encompasses orchestrating entropy. I've seen the beauty in adversity, but you retreat from it.
But you stray so close to life.
"Sounds like you haf' a lot on your mind." The silence lingered soon after his statement, and during its perceptible presence, he drummed his fingers on the curve of the cane. The forest echoed those sentiments. The wind whispered through the trees and teased their hair, the tenuous space between them.
In the wake of a fresh idea, he drew an even sigh to banish the copious phrases caked within his lungs. With a spark of baser mischief, he began his venture with a crooked grin. Time to test just how well she discerned the truth. "Let me tell you a story."
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