He says, "Oh, baby girl, you know we're gonna be legends.
i'm a king and you're a queen
"What the fuck happened to you?"
I've been keeping busy, figuring out how to love in this place. It's bizarre- quaint, in a way, but also full of the weirdest random crap, like magic roses and magic deer and oh yeah, literal magic. I'm good at figuring out how to live wherever I am, though, and while this is a challenge it's not impossible. I've already managed to find better clothes, some cuffs to cover my wrists, a choker for the scar on my throat, and best of all, a job.
That's right: it doesn't matter how backwards a place is, they'll always have a bar.
I miss it, though. I miss my own bar, above the boxing ring, always smelling like smoke and blood. I miss my father, crazy as he was, more fire in his little finger than in all of this place.
I miss the version of Sunny who lived there, the one who knew what he was, even if he hated it. He had something to fight, somewhere to direct the force of the flood, instead of just wallowing in it. Maybe we were under someone's heel, but it meant we dreamt of getting out.
I come in from behind him, soft enough he doesn't seem to notice, and lean against the wall. He's a mess, and not in a good way, more like brackish waters than a roaring deluge. Crossing my arms against my chest, I narrow my eyes, staring openly at the fresh wounds on his skin. "Come to the kitchen. You can explain while I clean you up."
I've been keeping busy, figuring out how to love in this place. It's bizarre- quaint, in a way, but also full of the weirdest random crap, like magic roses and magic deer and oh yeah, literal magic. I'm good at figuring out how to live wherever I am, though, and while this is a challenge it's not impossible. I've already managed to find better clothes, some cuffs to cover my wrists, a choker for the scar on my throat, and best of all, a job.
That's right: it doesn't matter how backwards a place is, they'll always have a bar.
I miss it, though. I miss my own bar, above the boxing ring, always smelling like smoke and blood. I miss my father, crazy as he was, more fire in his little finger than in all of this place.
I miss the version of Sunny who lived there, the one who knew what he was, even if he hated it. He had something to fight, somewhere to direct the force of the flood, instead of just wallowing in it. Maybe we were under someone's heel, but it meant we dreamt of getting out.
I come in from behind him, soft enough he doesn't seem to notice, and lean against the wall. He's a mess, and not in a good way, more like brackish waters than a roaring deluge. Crossing my arms against my chest, I narrow my eyes, staring openly at the fresh wounds on his skin. "Come to the kitchen. You can explain while I clean you up."
and we will stumble through heaven"
LUSEA
