MABEL
So neither of them knew.
They were walking edges and lines of the unknown, and it felt bitter, felt rancorous, felt unfair; because what was she supposed to do now? Think every droplet was going to cascade and take her away? Think the rush of waterfalls would lead to massacres? It was stupid, ridiculous, and not all at the same time – because if she slept, if she could dream anymore, those waves would be prominent features of nightmares. They would be adversaries, tumbling her over and over again, like knives, like daggers, like stilettos. And she knew what she’d rather face.
There was exhaustion mingled within there too, and she reached over hands and limbs, grabbing hold of the tassels of her hair, fingers suddenly going through the wilderness, the matted proportions, the seaweed, striving to pluck it out. Fast, as if in a terror, in a trance, working to pluck out the signs of her demise, until he finally said something.
Her eyes went back to his while her deft fingers took hold of the plant life submerged in her mane, softening slightly, tilting her head at the hushed measures. She didn’t know what any of this meant. “Turned off? To do what? Wait?” Like the machines the rest of the world always thought them to be? She didn’t like the implications, the way they would’ve tasted in her mouth, the sorrow settling its roots into the house. Empty and empty still. “For how long?”
They were walking edges and lines of the unknown, and it felt bitter, felt rancorous, felt unfair; because what was she supposed to do now? Think every droplet was going to cascade and take her away? Think the rush of waterfalls would lead to massacres? It was stupid, ridiculous, and not all at the same time – because if she slept, if she could dream anymore, those waves would be prominent features of nightmares. They would be adversaries, tumbling her over and over again, like knives, like daggers, like stilettos. And she knew what she’d rather face.
There was exhaustion mingled within there too, and she reached over hands and limbs, grabbing hold of the tassels of her hair, fingers suddenly going through the wilderness, the matted proportions, the seaweed, striving to pluck it out. Fast, as if in a terror, in a trance, working to pluck out the signs of her demise, until he finally said something.
Her eyes went back to his while her deft fingers took hold of the plant life submerged in her mane, softening slightly, tilting her head at the hushed measures. She didn’t know what any of this meant. “Turned off? To do what? Wait?” Like the machines the rest of the world always thought them to be? She didn’t like the implications, the way they would’ve tasted in her mouth, the sorrow settling its roots into the house. Empty and empty still. “For how long?”
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
