Glass Like Dreams
May. 6th, 2002 03:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wolven7Tick.
She watches, again, as she squeezes the life out of the small thing, the warm eyes, growing cold, seeming to ask her "Why?" She turns, fitfully, in her sleep, whimpers, and slips more deeply into a protective unconsciousness.
Tick.
He didn't want to be there. He had never even wanted to do the stupid thing, and now here he was. He looks down, again, at the pool of blood, and the stains on his hands, shirt, and jeans. He hears, in his mind, the echo of the shot that caused it all, and his eyes slip closed. All memory of the robbery attempt, and the man with the shotgun are washed away with the welcoming darkness, and the unexpected warmth.
Tick.
The day was finally here. Finally, all the dreams and hopes, and plans could be set into motion, and they could start their real lives. No more of this juvenile messing about. No more wondering what other people would think. Now was their tyme, and they would use it to the fullest. Nothing would get in their way. He refuses to toss his cap into the air, as the irony of people with high school diplomas tossing pointy objects into the air, above their heads, to show how smart they are, doesn't escape him. He turns his tassel and wonders what tomorrow brings.
Tick.
Her skin feels so good, and smells so sweet. She tastes like honeysuckle and sweat, an intoxicating mix, with a hint of raspberries. She slides her hands all over and caresses every inch, taking in the electricity of her skin, and her being. She slips her hands between her thighs and caresses the soft flesh, taking in the electricity, and life. She allows herself to briefly wonder if this is what love is like, all the tyme.
Tick.
Never did she think it would be her. There were so many other people, and so many precautions to take. She was a paranoid, and she knew it. She never let any contingency get past her. So how could it be her? Because, she reminded herself, there were always unseen possibilities, and missed angles. She runs her hand across her stomach, and tries to find all the ones she can think of.
Tick.
(c)2002 Damien Williams
She watches, again, as she squeezes the life out of the small thing, the warm eyes, growing cold, seeming to ask her "Why?" She turns, fitfully, in her sleep, whimpers, and slips more deeply into a protective unconsciousness.
Tick.
He didn't want to be there. He had never even wanted to do the stupid thing, and now here he was. He looks down, again, at the pool of blood, and the stains on his hands, shirt, and jeans. He hears, in his mind, the echo of the shot that caused it all, and his eyes slip closed. All memory of the robbery attempt, and the man with the shotgun are washed away with the welcoming darkness, and the unexpected warmth.
Tick.
The day was finally here. Finally, all the dreams and hopes, and plans could be set into motion, and they could start their real lives. No more of this juvenile messing about. No more wondering what other people would think. Now was their tyme, and they would use it to the fullest. Nothing would get in their way. He refuses to toss his cap into the air, as the irony of people with high school diplomas tossing pointy objects into the air, above their heads, to show how smart they are, doesn't escape him. He turns his tassel and wonders what tomorrow brings.
Tick.
Her skin feels so good, and smells so sweet. She tastes like honeysuckle and sweat, an intoxicating mix, with a hint of raspberries. She slides her hands all over and caresses every inch, taking in the electricity of her skin, and her being. She slips her hands between her thighs and caresses the soft flesh, taking in the electricity, and life. She allows herself to briefly wonder if this is what love is like, all the tyme.
Tick.
Never did she think it would be her. There were so many other people, and so many precautions to take. She was a paranoid, and she knew it. She never let any contingency get past her. So how could it be her? Because, she reminded herself, there were always unseen possibilities, and missed angles. She runs her hand across her stomach, and tries to find all the ones she can think of.
Tick.
(c)2002 Damien Williams
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no subject
Date: 2002-05-06 01:18 am (UTC)Thanks
Date: 2002-05-06 07:12 pm (UTC)Love you always
RAi
Whoa..
Date: 2002-05-06 08:33 pm (UTC)-The Mechanical One, lost and finding...
*Near tears of gratitude*