(no subject)
Jake's legs carry him automatically up the stairs and down the hall to his room. His mind is far away from the physical - there is no sound and little sense of touch as he opens his door and makes himself comfortable on the narrow bed for the evening.
In his mind's eye he stands in front of a door - ever more evidence of a wheel, should he need it - that is open, and the gloom at his back does nothing to dispel the sunlight and heat filtering through the thin barrier between. Were he to take a step forward - could he - his boots would rest upon sticky asphalt, straddling the broken yellow line in the very middle of the black road. The heels would sink a little and for that moment of transition it could be another trap. He would keep sinking into the sticky black and inside there would be one single luminous orb waiting for him -
(safe it's safe until the year)
- but he knows enough to resist the pull of that sibilant voice that is, for the moment, nothing but an echo and not entirely his own.
There is an order of things that forms in his mind.
In his mind's eye he stands in front of a door - ever more evidence of a wheel, should he need it - that is open, and the gloom at his back does nothing to dispel the sunlight and heat filtering through the thin barrier between. Were he to take a step forward - could he - his boots would rest upon sticky asphalt, straddling the broken yellow line in the very middle of the black road. The heels would sink a little and for that moment of transition it could be another trap. He would keep sinking into the sticky black and inside there would be one single luminous orb waiting for him -
(safe it's safe until the year)
- but he knows enough to resist the pull of that sibilant voice that is, for the moment, nothing but an echo and not entirely his own.
There is an order of things that forms in his mind.