wolven7 | Turning the worm

It sits, patiently, waiting there for someone to notice it, to live it, to understand it. The glistening, outstretched mandibles, the armour-like plates, upon its back. It sits, patiently, describing itself, to itself only, and it waits.

Slide.

"I refuse to let you simply sit there, and not talk to me! This is something we have to work out, you know.? We can't just not talk about it... Communication is the benchmark of any lasting relationship." She waits for a reply. "Well?!" Again, a silence. "Talk to me, dammit!"

In the hall, the orderlies hear her trademarked screams, nearly incomprehensible, raging at an unseen tormentor.

Turnslither Slide.

"What are we going to do, when we get there?" She stares out the window, watching the world go by.

"Well, I guess we'll wander around, take in the sights, and try to have a good time." He speaks, without looking at her. Instead, he stares out the windshield, watching the road, making sure that there are no sudden mental break downs, on their path.

She is silent, and she waits, forming the question in her head. "Do you think mom will be there?"

He sighs, realising the full implications of the question. "Honey, mom's with the Angels, now. She's not going to be anywhere, where we can see her. I'm sorry. Los Angeles is just a name, and this is just a bit of a vacation, for you, and a business trip for me."

She counts the trees, for a few minutes. "We didn't have to come here. You could have done all of this, from home.."

"I thought you might like to get out of the house, you know?"

She sighs, and looks at her legs, leaning back in the seat. "She said you'd say that."

"Just a business trip," he mumbles, staring steadfastly at the road.

Twitch slither. Slide.

"Talking, as communication, is outmoded." He takes a long drag from the cigarillo. A smell emanates, of clove, and honey. 'If, in this day and age, we still need to speak with one another, to communicate, then we, as a species are not doing our part, in evolution. The powers of the human mind, are many and varied. And if we can't explore those abilities, then we don't deserve to live."

"Is that why you cut their larynxes out, Anthony?" The detective paces around the table.

He rattles his cuffs, and takes another drag from the cigarillo. "One of the reasons."

Hissslide.

And the slithering mass of lives waits. It retains control of itself, through itself, though none of its components know of their weave. They slide, lock, and slither through their lives, looking for something that will help them make sense of it all. Less patiently than their pantheon, they wait.

(c)Damien Williams. All Rights Reserved