Asghar Abbas's Blog - Posts Tagged "and"
WARDRUNA
She knew what she wanted to get, she could get it but she didn’t want it. She wasn’t torn between her needs or wants in this chapter.
Too many of her kind have gone through her mind, far too many, a lot actually. She had been trampled upon for far too long, it was quite enough for this volume. Even she deserved to have better things pass through her; her head needn’t be broken in.
Pages were flipping over; she wanted to be there amidst the all the other creatures, just not like that. She was on her way but she had gotten lost in between the frayed whitewashed brick buildings, near the maddening blue waters. She was scavenging, but she had smashed all the clocks, every pocket watch from striking at midnight. She wasn't going back.
Maybe she was forgetting what she was feeling, but she had convinced everyone inhabiting those pages she wasn’t the monster they were all looking for, she wasn't the monster haunting them. She made all those around her believe that, maybe she believed it too. She was glad they existed so that she could prove she didn’t. She knew she wasn’t alive, still she couldn’t get into that cycle of the bloodmoon, she didn’t want to wear a circlet of reddened mist, take it away.
She supposed she really didn’t mean the part about slaying dragons and happier endings after all. She didn’t lie exactly, she was just not keeping her word, yet oddly enough she wasn’t breaking any promises. That’s why she almost always never promise anything. Because in this retelling, in the reimagining of her story the White Rabbit was as lost as she was. But she liked her story, even as the suns inside her burned her paper to a crisp and burned it still some more, until it was just an orange burnt dreck of a mess left crumbling in her hands.
Weird, she had given up those suns and yet she still wasn’t cold, funny how that worked.
She was standing but she knew where she was going. The blind old women had seen her rise up to scale her summit. She had no reason to mistrust those crones, or distrust what they saw. They had yet to do her a disservice. If the crones saw her on a grassy knoll then that was it. For even though they had everything to live for, they were still hungry for her to sing them a song.
Out in the open, in her green sequin dress that was like a second skin and fuck me-shoes, her decorative winter boots, she was counting the twinkling stars even though she could never count them all, she kept losing the count and had to start all over again. Still, she was doing it, her nose-pin glinting with the night as she tried getting rid of her passenger.
Prankster that she was, she had this whole thing rigged but she knew the difference between a kiss that makes you fall asleep and a poison that wakes you up.
Above all, she could dream. She knew how to do it. Do that.
That kinda magic didn't happen and yet that kinda magic was into her, so she magicked away.
Clearly, this wasn't her suicide but the colors, the colors were all hers.
Too many of her kind have gone through her mind, far too many, a lot actually. She had been trampled upon for far too long, it was quite enough for this volume. Even she deserved to have better things pass through her; her head needn’t be broken in.
Pages were flipping over; she wanted to be there amidst the all the other creatures, just not like that. She was on her way but she had gotten lost in between the frayed whitewashed brick buildings, near the maddening blue waters. She was scavenging, but she had smashed all the clocks, every pocket watch from striking at midnight. She wasn't going back.
Maybe she was forgetting what she was feeling, but she had convinced everyone inhabiting those pages she wasn’t the monster they were all looking for, she wasn't the monster haunting them. She made all those around her believe that, maybe she believed it too. She was glad they existed so that she could prove she didn’t. She knew she wasn’t alive, still she couldn’t get into that cycle of the bloodmoon, she didn’t want to wear a circlet of reddened mist, take it away.
She supposed she really didn’t mean the part about slaying dragons and happier endings after all. She didn’t lie exactly, she was just not keeping her word, yet oddly enough she wasn’t breaking any promises. That’s why she almost always never promise anything. Because in this retelling, in the reimagining of her story the White Rabbit was as lost as she was. But she liked her story, even as the suns inside her burned her paper to a crisp and burned it still some more, until it was just an orange burnt dreck of a mess left crumbling in her hands.
Weird, she had given up those suns and yet she still wasn’t cold, funny how that worked.
She was standing but she knew where she was going. The blind old women had seen her rise up to scale her summit. She had no reason to mistrust those crones, or distrust what they saw. They had yet to do her a disservice. If the crones saw her on a grassy knoll then that was it. For even though they had everything to live for, they were still hungry for her to sing them a song.
Out in the open, in her green sequin dress that was like a second skin and fuck me-shoes, her decorative winter boots, she was counting the twinkling stars even though she could never count them all, she kept losing the count and had to start all over again. Still, she was doing it, her nose-pin glinting with the night as she tried getting rid of her passenger.
Prankster that she was, she had this whole thing rigged but she knew the difference between a kiss that makes you fall asleep and a poison that wakes you up.
Above all, she could dream. She knew how to do it. Do that.
That kinda magic didn't happen and yet that kinda magic was into her, so she magicked away.
Clearly, this wasn't her suicide but the colors, the colors were all hers.
Mammah
I held them in my arms and still felt amputated somehow, knowing I would never feel whole again, accepting that we would never be whole in a sense that made sense only to the wet nature and harshness of a female heart.
I looked down at the dozing twins and thought how they wouldn't remember their earliest memories. I would have to keep them safe for them.
But when the time is right and they are ready for them, I wouldn't remember those songs and they wouldn't care.
I looked down at the dozing twins and thought how they wouldn't remember their earliest memories. I would have to keep them safe for them.
But when the time is right and they are ready for them, I wouldn't remember those songs and they wouldn't care.
