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 Posted: Tue Nov 24, 2015 5:35 pm
Fingers red, collapsed on the ground. Visions, visions of the impending futures that could exist, that did exist; she remembered the future vividly. The ringing was getting louder.
"We haven't been properly introduced," she said between ragged breaths. Ami was prepared to sacrifice, prepared to end this festering wound she had carried around.
(Ah, wound. It receives a deadly wound. Clever)
"How am I to know your name?" Her head spun and the guilt increased, clinging to her like a sickness. Too empty to live, but too cowardly to die. One who received pity: pitiful.
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Posted: Tue Feb 02, 2016 11:28 pm
Narrative
It's been some time. There's bound to be talk, there is always talk on the god forsaken island. Desolate people can't entertain themselves any other way except the momentary thrill of power derived from importance in a conversation. Even if it means crushing someone in the ridges of the soles of a shoe.
You always talk too much.
She's sure he's parading around as though life goes on.
(Scarier is the thought that life is, in fact, going on. It's moving and it's mobile and it's not stable, unchangeable, black and white-)
It does.
Regardless, there's a gap in the narrative now. Ami can't tell her side of the story, can't detail the sound of a heartbreak, can't pinpoint the exact moment it shattered and fell apart. There isn't even writing (Ami can't write it. No, that's not right. She can, she can, but she won't. It's not shouldn't or can't but won't and didn't). Word choice was very important, and prudent to perfect presentation.
But maybe that's on purpose. Maybe she's taken herself out of the narrative. Lex is a loudmouth who's probably already shared the story, brash, would do anything to protect his precious ego, would burn a world just to feel validated and-
But maybe that's on purpose. Maybe she's taken herself out of the narrative. Ami is greedy-
(selfish, unlovable, distant)
-and maybe it's only fair that she get to keep something to herself. Something that can die with her; the other hunters could speculate how she felt about the ordeal, could ignore her completely, could choose to think whatever they wanted on the subject. They would never really know.
He forfeited the right to know the moment he knelt beside her to-
-and he thought that would be enough of an apology, that anything could be enough of an apology.
She couldn't write, but she could stop writing.
You are impossible to love.
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Posted: Mon Apr 11, 2016 5:22 pm
And
And she leaves as quietly as she came. She places a hologram over the cavern doors to keep them safe. She leaves her glowsticks in place because she intends to return.
She arrives as quietly as she left. She has resolved nothing, gained nothing.
But she made her precious doctor a deal: I will return for where else can I go?
And all is still.
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