Kara's standing in front of him, a few feet away, just watching him.
It's hard to tell how long she's been standing there - she looks like she might have been there forever, a statue, or as if she just flickered into existence a moment ago, some fairy, ethereal and gone again in the blink of an eye. She's in a white dress, feet bare, arms bare even though it's a chilly, breezy day in March.
Kara doesn't feel the cold like normal people.
She wonders if she'd feel it if she ran her hand through his fire. Or if that would be as inconsequential as the cold, if it just wouldn't touch her. She's not really paying any attention to his words - her brain doesn't work in numbers, never has. But the fire... that's another thing altogether. That's something Kara understands.
Melvin would not notice people at all if he had not been raised by his mother. His mother sees people staring even when they are not.
He doesn't look at Kara. Not her face. He doesn't really see her face. He sees the edge of her white dress blowing in the wind. If he could comprehend metaphores, he might understand that the reason he's drawn to it the movement of the dress is because it's like the flame flickering in his hand against the cool breeze.
But his mind is not made for metaphors so he stares at the wave in her dress.
Kara nods a little, taking a few steps toward him, and sliding smoothly onto the bench beside him, like she's known him all her life. Like he's an old friend. She's like this with everyone.
"Yes." Her eyes flicker from the flame in his hand, up to his face, and back. The wind tosses her own hair into her face, but she doesn't seem to notice. The wind in her face, the cold... it's just a reminder she's alive. She needs that some days. "Always in the dark, so fire's important. Even if you're just a shadow. It's light that makes the shadows, and death's not heaven or hell, light or clouds or fire, it's just dark."
She bites her lip, hands fluttering in a brief, aborted gesture before falling back to her lap. "I don't want to be dead. Not again."
"There is no heaven and hell," Melvin agrees. "They're just stories. When you die your body decomposes in the ground for a long time and it becomes part of the earth. Unless you get cremated and then your body is burnt up at a temperature of 870 to 980 degrees Celsius, your organs turn to gas, until all that remains are bone fragments..."
He does not look at her, but when she sat next to him he tensed up and brought the fire closer to his chest so that it's closer to his eyes and captures all his attention.
"41... 4- 43... 47..." Melvin mutters. The numbers never change, they're predictable, she is not, but he is very lonely. Not that he could put that name to the empty feeling if he tried. "You died before?"
Comments 23
It's hard to tell how long she's been standing there - she looks like she might have been there forever, a statue, or as if she just flickered into existence a moment ago, some fairy, ethereal and gone again in the blink of an eye. She's in a white dress, feet bare, arms bare even though it's a chilly, breezy day in March.
Kara doesn't feel the cold like normal people.
She wonders if she'd feel it if she ran her hand through his fire. Or if that would be as inconsequential as the cold, if it just wouldn't touch her. She's not really paying any attention to his words - her brain doesn't work in numbers, never has. But the fire... that's another thing altogether. That's something Kara understands.
Reply
He doesn't look at Kara. Not her face. He doesn't really see her face. He sees the edge of her white dress blowing in the wind. If he could comprehend metaphores, he might understand that the reason he's drawn to it the movement of the dress is because it's like the flame flickering in his hand against the cool breeze.
But his mind is not made for metaphors so he stares at the wave in her dress.
"Do you like fire?"
Reply
"Yes." Her eyes flicker from the flame in his hand, up to his face, and back. The wind tosses her own hair into her face, but she doesn't seem to notice. The wind in her face, the cold... it's just a reminder she's alive. She needs that some days. "Always in the dark, so fire's important. Even if you're just a shadow. It's light that makes the shadows, and death's not heaven or hell, light or clouds or fire, it's just dark."
She bites her lip, hands fluttering in a brief, aborted gesture before falling back to her lap. "I don't want to be dead. Not again."
Reply
He does not look at her, but when she sat next to him he tensed up and brought the fire closer to his chest so that it's closer to his eyes and captures all his attention.
"41... 4- 43... 47..." Melvin mutters. The numbers never change, they're predictable, she is not, but he is very lonely. Not that he could put that name to the empty feeling if he tried. "You died before?"
Reply
Leave a comment