Lightbringer
Friday, November 05, 2004
Entry 5: Butterfly kept herself secret without being secret at all
There is beauty beyond the devouring.
There is beauty in the devouring.
There is beauty.
It is difficult for me. I can't feel Aya anymore, ever since she went below. She's usually shades of color in my thoughts, vivid azures and opaline yellows, cascading violet. I keep sending to her, but nothing. It drops into nothing. On the way out into the afternoon light, I squint. But it's not from the brightness. I fight the fear inside, the anxiousness. There's no Aya now. No buffer. No purity. There's just me. And my purity has been stolen.
Butterfly is strolling first on the sidewalk, a loping stride, Search and Escape trailing, their arms dangling, moving, not content, especially Escape. He pushes Search and Search jabs him in the side. Escape yelps. Butterfly ignores them.
I walk behind, breathing, concentrating. A single blade of grass grows out of a crack in the sidewalk. My father dies, falling over from a heart attack, in that crack. Around it scurry ants, not lots, but enough. Life. I'm in this child body. It's new. Aya won't die. She's so driven she'd never let that happen. True beauty breeds purpose, and vice versa. And my dear sisterfriend has purpose burnt into her bones. I'm following now, I was too slow when she first asked, I hesitated. It'll cost me later, I know.
Butterfly invigorates me. I thought I knew all the interesting kids, at least the ones that have been here for awhile. I do remember Escape blathering something many days ago, but he's always blathering, so I didn't believe. This girl kept herself secret without being secret at all.
The afternoon sun flashes in her silver hair. Search is a tall boy and his long legs make his head bob. Anybody watching us must know we're on a mission, we have that extra kick in our step. Moving straight along. Up to no good, the adults in the neighborhood might mutter. And then they'd smile, knowing our "no good" was the best kind, true play, no malice. Even I was imbued with that now, even with the anxiousness riding beneath my skin. Even though I haven't been a true child for over a thousand years.
¶ 11:37 PM 0 comments
There is beauty beyond the devouring.
There is beauty in the devouring.
There is beauty.
It is difficult for me. I can't feel Aya anymore, ever since she went below. She's usually shades of color in my thoughts, vivid azures and opaline yellows, cascading violet. I keep sending to her, but nothing. It drops into nothing. On the way out into the afternoon light, I squint. But it's not from the brightness. I fight the fear inside, the anxiousness. There's no Aya now. No buffer. No purity. There's just me. And my purity has been stolen.
Butterfly is strolling first on the sidewalk, a loping stride, Search and Escape trailing, their arms dangling, moving, not content, especially Escape. He pushes Search and Search jabs him in the side. Escape yelps. Butterfly ignores them.
I walk behind, breathing, concentrating. A single blade of grass grows out of a crack in the sidewalk. My father dies, falling over from a heart attack, in that crack. Around it scurry ants, not lots, but enough. Life. I'm in this child body. It's new. Aya won't die. She's so driven she'd never let that happen. True beauty breeds purpose, and vice versa. And my dear sisterfriend has purpose burnt into her bones. I'm following now, I was too slow when she first asked, I hesitated. It'll cost me later, I know.
Butterfly invigorates me. I thought I knew all the interesting kids, at least the ones that have been here for awhile. I do remember Escape blathering something many days ago, but he's always blathering, so I didn't believe. This girl kept herself secret without being secret at all.
The afternoon sun flashes in her silver hair. Search is a tall boy and his long legs make his head bob. Anybody watching us must know we're on a mission, we have that extra kick in our step. Moving straight along. Up to no good, the adults in the neighborhood might mutter. And then they'd smile, knowing our "no good" was the best kind, true play, no malice. Even I was imbued with that now, even with the anxiousness riding beneath my skin. Even though I haven't been a true child for over a thousand years.
¶ 11:37 PM 0 comments
