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sickle_storiesUpstairs, outside, under the sky: here he was master of the two. Even though they never walked about by day, the star-studded night-sky was too high-up, too smooth and too cold to resemble an earthy tunnel. She couldn’t bear the horizon or the breezes that traveled from a distance. It was the utmost freedom of the sky that caged her to his wishes. Unfortunately, they did not go outside often. Everything was too far away up there, and she feared that the same perception would be applied to him.
~~
She never could understand anything. He’d explain and exemplify until his lips bled, but she’d just shake her head mutely and lick the blood with her pretty pink tongue and kiss him, turning her own lips scarlet. She’d smile sadly as she tasted him, all the while shaking her head in the face of his failed attempts. Sometimes her eyes would glisten in the moon light, if they’d sat down in some soggy meadow during their strolls; him gesticulating and explaining, convincing, her counting the stars.
Sometimes she’d tell him a poem and shatter his porcelain arguments by tugging the tablecloth from under. And yet, despite the resulting chaos after this disruption, he’d glimpse another order.
~~
There was spilt cream in the moonlight.
She licked his shoulder, then moved up, hovering over him, and nuzzled his ear wit a pout.
The cream was cold. And kitten was hungry.
~~
He stiffened under her licking, but she did not stop until he was clean and glistening in the moonlight. He reminded her of glowing cobwebs she’d often find on dewy nights.
His skin could be seen now. He’d glistened before, when she’d found him, lying face-down where he’d fallen, or maybe where he’d managed to crawl towards.
He glistened now, too. Better. She preferred the glow of white to that of red.
It was brighter in the moonlight.
~~
She hid her hands behind her back, trying to rub the mud from them. She’d played with wet grass that night, Above, and had come back with hands stained green. That green would betray her.
~~
She never could understand anything. He’d explain and exemplify until his lips bled, but she’d just shake her head mutely and lick the blood with her pretty pink tongue and kiss him, turning her own lips scarlet. She’d smile sadly as she tasted him, all the while shaking her head in the face of his failed attempts. Sometimes her eyes would glisten in the moon light, if they’d sat down in some soggy meadow during their strolls; him gesticulating and explaining, convincing, her counting the stars.
Sometimes she’d tell him a poem and shatter his porcelain arguments by tugging the tablecloth from under. And yet, despite the resulting chaos after this disruption, he’d glimpse another order.
~~
There was spilt cream in the moonlight.
She licked his shoulder, then moved up, hovering over him, and nuzzled his ear wit a pout.
The cream was cold. And kitten was hungry.
~~
He stiffened under her licking, but she did not stop until he was clean and glistening in the moonlight. He reminded her of glowing cobwebs she’d often find on dewy nights.
His skin could be seen now. He’d glistened before, when she’d found him, lying face-down where he’d fallen, or maybe where he’d managed to crawl towards.
He glistened now, too. Better. She preferred the glow of white to that of red.
It was brighter in the moonlight.
~~
She hid her hands behind her back, trying to rub the mud from them. She’d played with wet grass that night, Above, and had come back with hands stained green. That green would betray her.
