Write slow project 17
“Mel, can you hear me?”
Tang of salt sharp breeze, an ocean going on forever. Cold spring ocean, still cold from winter. The whales are slowly returning, they had grown weary of blood and avoided this place for a while, but there have been no killings for many years now.
Mel began to have a seizure. Her teeth started to chatter first, her head tilting back. Nnnngggggg Nggggg she said as her eyes rolled open, only to reveal their whites. The chattering grew worse and seemed to breed, growing ripples that extended down her body, shoulders, arms, hands and chest, her legs feeling the ripple last. Jo knelt beside Mel, afriad to restrain her and cause damage, afraid of her fractured scull shaking her loose.
“Mel, stop it, you have to stop it.” Joe flinched as a tiny squirt of blood came from Mel's mouth and curved in a perfect arch onto her lap. Mel breathed heavily through her nose, like a grunting animal and slowly the shuddering subsided.
A gravestone, granite oucropping, the land's bones poke through the skin, old smooth lumps gasnite. Jo will carve Mel's tombstone, it will take her a year to develop the design, find the right stone, get the skills, tools and carve it. The tombstone with have holes in it, she'll think of them as eyes to other worlds, beautiful curls and loops, grey flecked quartz.