♔ | two { night } | accidental video | teneka
[ Strung up in a spiderweb canopy above the carnival, lights in green-gold- and reds illuminate the night softly. Ferris wheel cars, also dressed in lights, rock gently with a passing balmy gust, as dingy carousel ponies rest silently in the corner of the video. Tents and caravans dot the carnivale ground.
[ Sitting on the front steps of a green caravan, Ben Hawkins is lost in his own world. He stares distractedly into the glow of the carousel lights, which cast a feathered gold about him that exposes the rough aspect of his features. He's exhausted. His pallor is sallow; the skin under his eyes having darkened into purple-red bruises. Being away from his world, his visions had only seemed to worsen, visions of home-- visions of here, doors slamming and the thick smell of blood. The visions taunted him and taunted him, as if they mean to say -- "Here is what will happen to your world. But you can't do nothing. You're trapped, boy."
He brings a lit cigarette up to his lips for a drag, pulling in the smoke slowly and letting it sit hot in his lungs. ]
A dream in a dream.
[ Looking down at his hands, Ben studies the lines on his palm until his head slowly begins to dip forward. Sleep wins for a brief moment, but Ben is quick to snap awake - looking around blearily and shocked as if he'd just seen a ghost. He passes a curse beneath his breath, then says nothing else.
Cigarette smoke trails gray spirals in the dark, and he takes another drag while glancing back at one of his hands. He stares for minute before he brings the burning end against his palm, pressing it down long enough for the skin to cauterize. ]
[ Sitting on the front steps of a green caravan, Ben Hawkins is lost in his own world. He stares distractedly into the glow of the carousel lights, which cast a feathered gold about him that exposes the rough aspect of his features. He's exhausted. His pallor is sallow; the skin under his eyes having darkened into purple-red bruises. Being away from his world, his visions had only seemed to worsen, visions of home-- visions of here, doors slamming and the thick smell of blood. The visions taunted him and taunted him, as if they mean to say -- "Here is what will happen to your world. But you can't do nothing. You're trapped, boy."
He brings a lit cigarette up to his lips for a drag, pulling in the smoke slowly and letting it sit hot in his lungs. ]
A dream in a dream.
[ Looking down at his hands, Ben studies the lines on his palm until his head slowly begins to dip forward. Sleep wins for a brief moment, but Ben is quick to snap awake - looking around blearily and shocked as if he'd just seen a ghost. He passes a curse beneath his breath, then says nothing else.
Cigarette smoke trails gray spirals in the dark, and he takes another drag while glancing back at one of his hands. He stares for minute before he brings the burning end against his palm, pressing it down long enough for the skin to cauterize. ]