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 Posted: Thu Jul 09, 2009 7:36 pm
two. roleplay: a repo man's daughter
three. halt
four. past: christopher
five. past: exipotic's reaction
six.
seven.
eight.
nine.
ten.
eleven.
twelve.
thirteen.
fourteen.
fifteen.
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Posted: Thu Jul 09, 2009 7:37 pm
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Posted: Fri Jul 10, 2009 11:48 pm
The strange man had been right; only a few blocks, a few treacherous street crossings, later I found a pebbled building and it was there I stopped, the insatiable urge to travel finally quashed, and I sank to my knees at the entrance of an alleyway. Safely out of the way of passerby, I let myself lean against a wall that, like all of Aekea, was relentlessly, stoically clean.
I knew I should have kept going; it would be so simple to find the flat where Maria and her husband lived for this season, too easy to have shown up and been received like the prodigal, because for some reason they did not hate me for leaving Asmadai so often as I did and wandering for this unknowable reason, for no purpose I could tell. They would always keep me for a night and bring me to the station and send me home to the man who, if I could stay still long enough, would have me for a daughter. I could not help wandering, but every time I was struggling with the latches on my window I felt the stabbing guilt - so close, so close, so close, perhaps one more month, as short a time as two weeks, always.
And now I was lost - no, not quite. I knew where I was, physically, but always it was hard to find the mental center, hard to remain logical. Losing my logic could mean death; it was the one constant in my two years spent wavering between kept bird and ownerless dog. Everything had logic; everything except me.
The crushing despair came back and I knotted my hands into the curls of my hair, could not quite quell a despairing cry. The feeling of utter aloneness, of invisibility, had never been quite so strong and in a way perhaps I resented the man of the fireworks for making me feel so... ineffectual. He had been alive, and vital; I felt it in the grip of his hand, in the soft touch to my wrist when he directed me to this place, and in that moment of despair I thought, delusional, that he had known. Farid, some sort of Arabic name, a strange turn of phrase to fit his strange personality and the calluses in a pattern I had not yet fully encountered on his hand. A stranger but I... I did not even know. I pined to know him the same way I pined to know the faces of the people I passed, to know my friend's face.
Why had I mentioned Christopher? Now the thought made me feel inexplicably dirty, like I had broken a sacred trust, let an outsider see something he shoulder not have seen; it felt, my logical mind told me, like a blasphemy. I pulled my hair, found release in the pain it brought. It was nothing pure, nothing sacred; I desired acknowledgement and my friend was one of the only ones who would claim me.
My best friend, he'd said once, and this time my cry was more despairing. More... pained, and broken. Pathetic. I resented it.
It was not that I was attracted to Farid. It was that I'd never met anyone, never talked to anyone, quite like that. It was as if someone had taken Etienne and Christopher and made them the same person. It was disconcerting, and-- and I wasn't sure I liked it.
I let myself lean forward, imagined dark curls spilling against concrete. It would be fine, I mouthed to myself, all I had to do was never come this way in my wanderings again. For a moment, I felt sure in that I would never walk to this part of Aekea after this venture; then, with the sudden sensation of my stomach dropping to my knees, I knew I would.
I remember that I wanted to follow this thought to its conclusion, a logical thing to hold on to while I waited to have the strength, the desire, to get up off my knees. I also remember the member of the Aekean guard who tapped my shoulder and kindly, too kindly, offered to take me home.
Instead of thinking about the puzzle of Farid, I slept in a police car all the way back to the tiny house next to the chapel. But before I let myself lose grip on consciousness, I decided this: I would visit Christopher soon.
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Posted: Wed Jul 22, 2009 6:00 pm
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Posted: Wed Jul 22, 2009 6:42 pm
the past
Oh.. oh my. I didn't think I'd see this girl again..
It's good to see that her stubby
legs have curled to make her some
feet, and didn't stay looking like cut
stems, like when she was born.
(Thems not shoes.) She.. she doesn't
look all that happy to see - see? Oh
dear, those thorns... the poor dear...
I should have ... well ...
-exipotic
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