(no subject)
At first, she can still feel the smooth cool clay covering her skin. Distantly.
Then there's his voice, a deep rumbling hum, and everything else goes away.
it doesn't hurt me
you wanna feel the way it feels?
*
you wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me?
you wanna hear about the deal I'm making?
Somewhere there's fire, leaping upward joyously in a fountain of sparks; somewhere there's a cinderblock wall exploding in slow motion, a tub full of ice water bursting into a rolling boil, a chopping block at the center of a converging ring of flames, a smoldering teddy bear with its fur blackened and stippled with foam.
*
She's hovering, looking down at her own body with eyes that can see through flesh and mind and soul and years, straight through to where the fire lives.
There's a moment of wonder as she finally sees it, this thing that's been part of her since her birth: a bright bundle of energies, coiled snug within her. Twined tightly around it, inextricably intertwined with it, there's a dense dark tangle of old fear and old pain, an ugly mess of hurt and hate and self-hatred -- and a proud, arrogant self-assurance of power.
Woodchips, she hears the echo of her own contemptuous thought. They should have given me something hard.
*
eat and grow eat and grow eat and grow
*
Somewhere very far away, his hands move over her body like a sculptor, or a surgeon: purposeful, and not at all hesitant, but so very careful. She can see his face, his brows lowered with concentration, his eyes intent behind the spill of dark hair.
He looks so serious, almost grim, and she wants to tell him it's all right but she can't remember how to speak.
*
Somewhere there's fire, wreathing around an outstretched hand.
(and behold, the bush was not consumed)
There's heat, but no pain.
*
Then there's his voice, a deep rumbling hum, and everything else goes away.
it doesn't hurt me
you wanna feel the way it feels?
*
you wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me?
you wanna hear about the deal I'm making?
Somewhere there's fire, leaping upward joyously in a fountain of sparks; somewhere there's a cinderblock wall exploding in slow motion, a tub full of ice water bursting into a rolling boil, a chopping block at the center of a converging ring of flames, a smoldering teddy bear with its fur blackened and stippled with foam.
*
She's hovering, looking down at her own body with eyes that can see through flesh and mind and soul and years, straight through to where the fire lives.
There's a moment of wonder as she finally sees it, this thing that's been part of her since her birth: a bright bundle of energies, coiled snug within her. Twined tightly around it, inextricably intertwined with it, there's a dense dark tangle of old fear and old pain, an ugly mess of hurt and hate and self-hatred -- and a proud, arrogant self-assurance of power.
Woodchips, she hears the echo of her own contemptuous thought. They should have given me something hard.
*
eat and grow eat and grow eat and grow
*
Somewhere very far away, his hands move over her body like a sculptor, or a surgeon: purposeful, and not at all hesitant, but so very careful. She can see his face, his brows lowered with concentration, his eyes intent behind the spill of dark hair.
He looks so serious, almost grim, and she wants to tell him it's all right but she can't remember how to speak.
*
Somewhere there's fire, wreathing around an outstretched hand.
(and behold, the bush was not consumed)
There's heat, but no pain.
*