Aim your arrow at the sky
SHOOT LIGHTNING THROUGH THE VITAL VEINS
SHOOT LIGHTNING THROUGH THE VITAL VEINS
They stand huddled together in the early sunrise, the notebook held between them, and Jude marvels at the strange sense of companionship that sits in his chest alongside the guilt. Nothing has been utterly lost - lives, foremost - so maybe he can still count this as a success?
Zavien speaks more than enough in Jude's place, and he hangs on every word with wide, unblinking eyes. This entire evening feels revelatory, and in the half-light everything feels magic. Magic in the way serendipity is, or human spirit, and not the sort found in the veins of Abandoned. Or maybe he's just painfully, heartbreakingly lonely, and he hasn't heard a kind word as to his demeanor or mind in so long. He feels voracious. Starved for every beautiful word off Zavien's tongue which absolves him when he does not deserve it.
The first words he's sure to write aren't a direct answer to the question posed, but to the sheepishness that had overtaken Zavien just before it. It's not cheesy, I promise. My dad used to tell me the same. He realizes belatedly that it sounds like Harper is dead when it's written that way, but his broken heart whispers isn't he, though? To us?
The rest is much easier to write, though he prays silently for Zavien's patience as he tries not to scrawl too quickly, to retain some form of the perfect handwriting his Maman had trained into him. I'm on a quest that Safrin gave me. I'm not supposed to speak all day, to know the power of my voice. So I came somewhere unfamiliar to see if I could learn something. I think I did, to say the least. His smile as he shows the page to Zavien is sheepish, clearly meaning the man in the clinic behind them as well as the one reading the words he'd just written.
Zavien speaks more than enough in Jude's place, and he hangs on every word with wide, unblinking eyes. This entire evening feels revelatory, and in the half-light everything feels magic. Magic in the way serendipity is, or human spirit, and not the sort found in the veins of Abandoned. Or maybe he's just painfully, heartbreakingly lonely, and he hasn't heard a kind word as to his demeanor or mind in so long. He feels voracious. Starved for every beautiful word off Zavien's tongue which absolves him when he does not deserve it.
The first words he's sure to write aren't a direct answer to the question posed, but to the sheepishness that had overtaken Zavien just before it. It's not cheesy, I promise. My dad used to tell me the same. He realizes belatedly that it sounds like Harper is dead when it's written that way, but his broken heart whispers isn't he, though? To us?
The rest is much easier to write, though he prays silently for Zavien's patience as he tries not to scrawl too quickly, to retain some form of the perfect handwriting his Maman had trained into him. I'm on a quest that Safrin gave me. I'm not supposed to speak all day, to know the power of my voice. So I came somewhere unfamiliar to see if I could learn something. I think I did, to say the least. His smile as he shows the page to Zavien is sheepish, clearly meaning the man in the clinic behind them as well as the one reading the words he'd just written.
THEY THINK THAT YOU EMIT THE LIGHT
But you only take it in
But you only take it in
