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Mors Axoris (aphonia_x) wrote,
@ 2004-01-16 21:50:00
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    I think It's time to talk about the accident.

    The hum of the highway lulls her into submission. She finally sinks, uninhibited, into the passenger seat. ("Seems like it takes so much time to just relax.") Engrossed in a menial task she can't take her eyes off of her own denim thighs. Punching numbers, saving time, he echoes hello into the silver spoon; the distant Aphrodite laughs. ("We're trying to bridge the gap on route 95.") The soundtrack is a punk rock lullaby, guitar reverberations to their lives. A softness on her un-laced lips, her patented sideways smile, what's on her mind what's on her mind? A fleeting emotion, an angel's grin. This is living in time. Then his eyes ignite. The slowest cervical twist. Her eyes match his.. but lo, he is fixated on a concluding disruption. The background is no longer in a glance. Distance becomes a trainwreck in front of your very own eyes. After this instant there is no looking back. Inexperience is washed away. We are now living life.
    This is not chaos. This is all a careful spiral towards the apex. Heaven on the back of a charging bull. The conclusion, a whirlwind of sharpened paint. And what's this? She's floating in a airy sea of shards! Weightless scraps of once-blueish glass. The pressured sands are in her eyes and she cannot see reality, she is no longer in the moment. The hourglass was overturned and spilt, Someone has stopped the watch. Somewhere she is lost.. but this is not nearly the end.
    The wave has ebbed, the velocity is gone and we are now at rest. we must adjust. Come back to the standstill. Yes.. the snow is still intact. Yes she still has hands. But the colors.. they must have ran and washed away with her expression. Their eyes are now wide open. Soaking in the eternal moment with de-virginized eyes. Making up for stolen time.
    There are no smells. No sense of touch. Vision is the only sense to trust and even this decieves.. there is only blood in sight.
    No fire. No brimstone. She cannot even feel Laceration's heat, the specks of glass have taken residence in her skull. ears. arms. and eyelids. Spitting out the remains of a Ford Focus. Surely this is not her own body. This is surely not her blood.
    Cradled in the metal pillow, he rests. Shock-Azure meets Empty Emerald. For a moment there is no movement. No sounds in stillness.Then the spiral snaps back again. The springs are all back in place.


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