11-09-2015, 08:05 PM
Midnight and near-full-moon looming over a town that doesn't seem to have a name, just a center square and dark faces of one-and-two story buildings like something out a movie lot all dark now except for the neon open sign still blazing in the picture window of a clearly-closed thrift shop. And the bus station of course, which shares space with a 24-hour laundromat, the ugly wash of bare fluorescents smeared over the vaguely stained bisque of near-antique industrial washers. No passengers waiting and no reason to idle except for the corporation tracking. Gotta hit the marks and the marks say he has to wait until seven minutes past this godforsaken hour and he isn't going to bother opening the doors except the pregnant girl in the third row from the back lurches up the aisle, asks how long they're here, and insists he open the door because she has to pee and wants an egg salad sandwich from the vending machine.
No reason to slip off here, except she feels like it.
So they do.
That's how it works.
Spend the rest of the night laid out in the center of the grassy square, dog with its muzzle settled over its crossed paws, girl laid out all open like she's trying to make snow angels without any snow, golden hair strewn all over the damp grass, shivering until she tells herself not to be cold anymore, and she isn't, is she? senses blown open, staring at the stars.
It snows before morning. She wakes to the gentle dusting over the grass, snowflakes caught in her eyelashes, melting against her skin.
No reason to slip off here, except she feels like it.
So they do.
That's how it works.
Spend the rest of the night laid out in the center of the grassy square, dog with its muzzle settled over its crossed paws, girl laid out all open like she's trying to make snow angels without any snow, golden hair strewn all over the damp grass, shivering until she tells herself not to be cold anymore, and she isn't, is she? senses blown open, staring at the stars.
It snows before morning. She wakes to the gentle dusting over the grass, snowflakes caught in her eyelashes, melting against her skin.
But my heart is wild and my bones are steel
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula