Greeting the sun
She has trodden very slowly. Not for fear, but for exhaustion - and for a willfulness that is so very degraded, that her body can barely obey her commands. She has lost the will to live to a point which is a case, yet again, of reversal, and it is now a will, a resolution to die which gives her momentum.
Yet, as the will to die is not as galvanizing as the impulsion of life might be, she advances at a sluggish pace.
The cave’s walls are very dark but she sees - dawn is coming, and she feels the strange expectation of something which is not so new as it is a forgotten memory about to be unraveled. Her eyes are clotted with the dry tears - and her dress and overcoat are dustier, for she has not changed since her fateful arrival.
Her traverse of the stone passage is almost over, and she knows she will have under an hour before the sun comes forth. Now the purple sky is at her feet, laid bare, and she barely can stop herself at the edge, and rest against the granite wall.
With a carefree gesture, she wipes her face, that her eyes may be unfettered of dry blood-tears, and her hair, now wretched and torn, resembles forlorn serpents in slumber. She makes no sound. She does not tremble. She does not cry, for she is beyond tears.
Only, she waits, for the first time that she will see the sun in two thousand years, and for the end of her misery.
T: Yes, the obvious is happening. It's all fallen apart, and she's not quite able to sustain her own life right now. She's much to blah to be dangerous at this point. Draaaaaamaaaaaaa. This is a golden opportunity to play white knight, or something. :-P
Yet, as the will to die is not as galvanizing as the impulsion of life might be, she advances at a sluggish pace.
The cave’s walls are very dark but she sees - dawn is coming, and she feels the strange expectation of something which is not so new as it is a forgotten memory about to be unraveled. Her eyes are clotted with the dry tears - and her dress and overcoat are dustier, for she has not changed since her fateful arrival.
Her traverse of the stone passage is almost over, and she knows she will have under an hour before the sun comes forth. Now the purple sky is at her feet, laid bare, and she barely can stop herself at the edge, and rest against the granite wall.
With a carefree gesture, she wipes her face, that her eyes may be unfettered of dry blood-tears, and her hair, now wretched and torn, resembles forlorn serpents in slumber. She makes no sound. She does not tremble. She does not cry, for she is beyond tears.
Only, she waits, for the first time that she will see the sun in two thousand years, and for the end of her misery.
T: Yes, the obvious is happening. It's all fallen apart, and she's not quite able to sustain her own life right now. She's much to blah to be dangerous at this point. Draaaaaamaaaaaaa. This is a golden opportunity to play white knight, or something. :-P