[2014]
He kind of hated those moth and fire metaphors. Elijah had sat through high school creative writing classes- eaten an abundance of shit poems and short stories only to find that to be the go to metaphor for finding someone to whom you were attracted but was ultimately bad for you.
Cows to slaughter, perhaps would work, but they weren’t innocent enough. When people thought of cows they thought of stupid things that exist only to be eaten. Lambs are purity. Pigs are slovenly. People went for lambs for the innocence, the sense of something that was naïve and trusting. He didn’t like the lamb metaphor either. Couldn’t think of a child with his hands on the stove, either, because nobody warned him about people like Inez.
At least, he thought her name was Inez. She’d half graveled some name into his ear on some dance floor, with a body too hot and something that tingled on the back of his spine. Clutched the nerve endings there and tested whatever metal he was made of, flashed through the flame and cast into the snow. Faults would crack- that which was forged well would withstand any number of battles ahead. What he noticed about her wasn’t her hair (dark) or her eyes (darker)- it was the heat. The sheer temperature of her body, as though she was just some conduit for some salamander to inhabit (sylphs for air, undines for water, he forgets earth, but it is which gives form. He should remember the earth, remember form because he would need it.)
She did not look at him with hunger, but rather, there was something lurking beneath her gaze. He’d known it once or twice, seen bar fights and drug deals gone bad that end with I will end you. She took him by the wrist and not the hand, looked back with a smile that seemed all too evident that she was bad for him in the best possible ways. Lambs to slaughter. Cows to processing. Moths to flame- he hated all of them. Hated their implications but he did not have words for what he may be, following behind her in some crowded club halfway between Louisiana and Colorado, some place he’d gone to blow off steam in a city whose coordinates and particulars he did not care. It was merely another place, another location with people and bodies.
And a woman who was fire. A woman who burned, not like a wailing, careless martyr but something decidedly more decisive. Something that would not be defined along with the likes of Joan of Arc- the maid who was a warrior but died in such a disappointing fashion.
Inez didn’t give a fuck about Joan of Arc.
But she took him by the wrist, past people while the bass was thumping in the background and bodies writhed but purposefully avoided her. Eyes were not cast her way. People did not give her anything but room, but space, as though she were a brittle forest waiting to catch ablaze. All it would take was one careless cigarette butt. People could only blame themselves. Elijah shifted as they entered into an alleyway and she was pressed into him, and he’d never been one to shy away from contact, to do more than just go with the flow of the universe. He didn’t know things yet, knew that he was going to have a hell of a time getting decent housing in Denver. Knew that he woke up with sweat on his brow and his heart pounding as the universe blew apart, faded to Nothing. Knew that his mornings would begin like all other mornings, with threats.
In truth, this woman, this creature whose blood was danger? Was no more terrifying than the falsehoods he believed his mind created. She seemed the kind that insists upon forgetting when trysts are through- Elijah liked forgetting. He grinned.
Inez kissed him hard, harsh, placed her hand on the brick wall next to his head and he was taken with the fact that she was just as tall as he was in heels. Unapologetic. There was a moment of kissing, movement, hands grazing before her teeth nipped his lip, hard enough to draw blood. Hard enough that the little tick of copper and iron in his mouth flooded the air and he couldn’t place why or how the world felt so stifling. She pulled back, locked eyes with him.
Bared her teeth. Probably a smile.
“We’re going back to my place,” she told him. Sounded like it could have been a question.
“Okay,” he said, dumbly. Lambs to fucking slaughter.
He kind of hated those moth and fire metaphors. Elijah had sat through high school creative writing classes- eaten an abundance of shit poems and short stories only to find that to be the go to metaphor for finding someone to whom you were attracted but was ultimately bad for you.
Cows to slaughter, perhaps would work, but they weren’t innocent enough. When people thought of cows they thought of stupid things that exist only to be eaten. Lambs are purity. Pigs are slovenly. People went for lambs for the innocence, the sense of something that was naïve and trusting. He didn’t like the lamb metaphor either. Couldn’t think of a child with his hands on the stove, either, because nobody warned him about people like Inez.
At least, he thought her name was Inez. She’d half graveled some name into his ear on some dance floor, with a body too hot and something that tingled on the back of his spine. Clutched the nerve endings there and tested whatever metal he was made of, flashed through the flame and cast into the snow. Faults would crack- that which was forged well would withstand any number of battles ahead. What he noticed about her wasn’t her hair (dark) or her eyes (darker)- it was the heat. The sheer temperature of her body, as though she was just some conduit for some salamander to inhabit (sylphs for air, undines for water, he forgets earth, but it is which gives form. He should remember the earth, remember form because he would need it.)
She did not look at him with hunger, but rather, there was something lurking beneath her gaze. He’d known it once or twice, seen bar fights and drug deals gone bad that end with I will end you. She took him by the wrist and not the hand, looked back with a smile that seemed all too evident that she was bad for him in the best possible ways. Lambs to slaughter. Cows to processing. Moths to flame- he hated all of them. Hated their implications but he did not have words for what he may be, following behind her in some crowded club halfway between Louisiana and Colorado, some place he’d gone to blow off steam in a city whose coordinates and particulars he did not care. It was merely another place, another location with people and bodies.
And a woman who was fire. A woman who burned, not like a wailing, careless martyr but something decidedly more decisive. Something that would not be defined along with the likes of Joan of Arc- the maid who was a warrior but died in such a disappointing fashion.
Inez didn’t give a fuck about Joan of Arc.
But she took him by the wrist, past people while the bass was thumping in the background and bodies writhed but purposefully avoided her. Eyes were not cast her way. People did not give her anything but room, but space, as though she were a brittle forest waiting to catch ablaze. All it would take was one careless cigarette butt. People could only blame themselves. Elijah shifted as they entered into an alleyway and she was pressed into him, and he’d never been one to shy away from contact, to do more than just go with the flow of the universe. He didn’t know things yet, knew that he was going to have a hell of a time getting decent housing in Denver. Knew that he woke up with sweat on his brow and his heart pounding as the universe blew apart, faded to Nothing. Knew that his mornings would begin like all other mornings, with threats.
In truth, this woman, this creature whose blood was danger? Was no more terrifying than the falsehoods he believed his mind created. She seemed the kind that insists upon forgetting when trysts are through- Elijah liked forgetting. He grinned.
Inez kissed him hard, harsh, placed her hand on the brick wall next to his head and he was taken with the fact that she was just as tall as he was in heels. Unapologetic. There was a moment of kissing, movement, hands grazing before her teeth nipped his lip, hard enough to draw blood. Hard enough that the little tick of copper and iron in his mouth flooded the air and he couldn’t place why or how the world felt so stifling. She pulled back, locked eyes with him.
Bared her teeth. Probably a smile.
“We’re going back to my place,” she told him. Sounded like it could have been a question.
“Okay,” he said, dumbly. Lambs to fucking slaughter.