The witch watched the thief from above. She had pocketed a belonging from a traveller asleep in the carriage. They made eye contact, the witch and the thief. The thief, instead of returning the belonging, jumped off from her seat and moved on.
"What do you think of her?" "She's beautiful. A beautiful flame burning blue. And yet, I can only see the destruction, the child causes. All for the purpose of being nice and what may be right? No. Instead, I see the thieves, they steal your fuel and how you allow them."
The bit of his axe stuck out of the side of the tree. He had been clearing the area in attempt to excise the cancer growing. He adjusts his harness and pulls his axe free. Another enchantment by the witch, the woodsman keeps at his task, now with ease.
Run your brain, run your mouth, run your body to the ground. Run, run, run so you do not think. While the pain comes out your fingertips.
In a daze, the wall connects with my temples. Vision wobbles, wanting to turn black. Swallow the black swill, it's your only hope.
Your lips against mine send my senses to blaze. My body fills with warmth and the delicate touch of your painted fingertips on my neck send my heart reeling. You pull me closer into an embrace and free my hair of its elastic prison. Our eyes find each other’s again before our lips touch, sending … Continue reading Electric Touch
Dull that pain, through any means, the Thinker says. The Witch watches on as he gathers herbs, salves, potions. A fading song in the air dances around and his ears twitch. Over time, the Witch knows the painkillers are there for the Thinkers benefit, attempting to provide any opportunity to acquire more. But the Thinker … Continue reading Painkiller
The snake had suffocated the Thinker hundreds of miles away. Her heart stood behind stone and masonry, many miles more. It crumbled and tumbled, the young Witch sat hugging her bare knees, hiding her face. Her frail hands, her nails clenched deep into her flesh, staining protein in the rust.
Swivel round and round, three points. Only one private, at least in appearance. I make my way round, each swivel becoming more and more bogged down by an occlusion. Gel filling the chamber and into my lungs, pushing the air out. I try to cry out but my mouth held tight by hands with fish … Continue reading Craning
Where are you at? I don't know your name. Time and again I feel like you're teasing me in a most cruel way, slinking away like smoke.