stitching up the seams - [kiah] {blitz}
Apr 4, 2012 6:26:14 GMT -5
Post by jj jenkins d7. ✨ zozo. on Apr 4, 2012 6:26:14 GMT -5
when i was a little girl the world was small to me.
all the light in my life filtered softly through the trees.
the shadows in the photographs, five ghosts who followed me.
i was only truly frightened once, they called my name
and said they wanted me.
.:.:.:.:.
I am a delicate flower. I tiptoe across the new spring grass barefooted, testing it's dissimilar feeling. I can feel it's freshness, each tiny blade of grass tickling the soles of my feet, itching between the gaps in my toes. I feel almost bad, crushing them all, as if they were each a new soul sprouted from the earth. But perhaps they wouldn't mind, the blades of grass. Perhaps they would in fact find comfort in it. Pushed back towards the ground again. Back into the safety of the dampness, where there roots are hidden. Tiny, fragile roots that everyone strives to protect. A bit like me.
Placing myself in a sitting position on the grass, I watch people go by. Some are busy, and have places to go to. Directions set out for them. Others, like me, wander about aimlessly with no specific destination. Just pass the time, minute by minute. Observing the world around them. Trying not to think of the horrors that lay outside our home of Twelve. The horrors of the dreaded arena and it's life-sucking tendencies. I watch them, moving about. Their mouths moving, expressions morphing, eyes jumping. I can see and smell and touch and taste - but never hear. I can pick out syllables, vowels, the small humming of speech that blurs into ringing - but anything else and I am useless. I am trapped in a silent buzz of vibrations and muffled queries and underwater movements.
At least the voices have gone for now.
