Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Small Edits:

Oh and didn't something dreadful happen? As I stumbled out with my sleeves all down and around my wrists, breasts bare and bouncing to the chill of the air, and the boys, the boys, out in the street covered in masks pitch black against the midnight dark in the street, the masks nothin but tight sacks, so black as the iris, covered their faces as one lay moaning on the ground, I could here his splashing in the water and dirt, the other stood there and stared into the blank of night through his thick cover, a veil, to keep him hidden? To shame, to confuse, to break, to suffocate? I wanted to cry out, I was shaking my head so hard that my neck was aching. I stomped my feet to act in simplicity, I threw myself against the wooden door frame to feel pain, I didn't know how to manage anything beyond the actions of a child and with my tiny hands I grabbed at my skirt and began to tear it.

To open, to shut up and free at once, to blind, to empower, to force, to focus, for clarity?
Strong hands, he had always had strong hands, comfortable in every situation his hands of confidence of generosity, his virility and heart in strong hands. Strong hands I could not see now, the night had covered them in their own masks. He stood there and stared, I do not know if his eyes were opened or closed and it does not matter he stood staring on. His pale skin like ice to me in the mid winter cold, his back, his thighs all visible as he was sparsely dressed in boxer shorts. No shoes, I could here the slap of his bare feet once he stirred. He left, he left me, he left his brother and walked away. His shoulders held bravely, his back straight, his head with gentlest tilt to imply a smirk, his steps large, he walked away, he walked as a man who thinks the world belongs to him because he has nothing.
I would not follow him, I had no reason to, we were nothing much to each other. But when he left it was like he had come at me with blades up and down. I kicked, I kicked everything I could reach, I hit my own self, on my head, along my legs, I stood there flailing.
I was all out of breath and the blood running through my veins felt hot. The sting of the air kept my eyes open and as I watched the boy squirm on the ground, I was soothed, their was something rhythmic and delicate about it so that I was calmed by the entrancing figure.

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