NATE
“Wicker woman. Sap.” Nate retreats the words steadily, pressing more against Sunjata as a wing wraps around him. He turns to his husband and offers a wink. “Got it.” The pressure and steadiness are both appreciated, glue stick balms that hold together the popsicle stick house of his mind. None of it is steady, but as long as you don’t touch it too much, it’s fine. His hand stretches out, dragging along the tips of dying branches.
But then, then they’re telling ghost stories, a subject that holds Nate’s attention unlike any other. He’s something of a connoisseur, a fact that he doesn’t broadcast to Sunjata in words so much as feelings, a certain expectation carrying over.
From the beginning, Nate’s hooked. He can see it all in his minds eye, laid out perfect like a silver screen picture. The floods, the rains, the drama of something yet unseen, shifting in the swirling shadows. Then the screams, as victims were dragged away into the darkness, as empty beds were found in the morning. Oh, Nate is with him alright, an involuntary shiver running down his spine.
Sunjata continues, describing trinkets and tributes left to some lost god of the floods, pleas for a creature beyond nature to have mercy. Maybe he’s letting his imagination run wild, but Nate just can’t help himself. He slows naturally along with Sunjata, not seeming to even notice as he brings to mind some beast with gnarled, rootlike horns, long and sleek and angry.
What did the rumours say? His arms wrap around Sunjata’s snout, Nate leaning in to better meet the great slotted eyes. He is utterly transfixed, hook and worm both stuck somewhere in his gullet.
But then, then they’re telling ghost stories, a subject that holds Nate’s attention unlike any other. He’s something of a connoisseur, a fact that he doesn’t broadcast to Sunjata in words so much as feelings, a certain expectation carrying over.
From the beginning, Nate’s hooked. He can see it all in his minds eye, laid out perfect like a silver screen picture. The floods, the rains, the drama of something yet unseen, shifting in the swirling shadows. Then the screams, as victims were dragged away into the darkness, as empty beds were found in the morning. Oh, Nate is with him alright, an involuntary shiver running down his spine.
Sunjata continues, describing trinkets and tributes left to some lost god of the floods, pleas for a creature beyond nature to have mercy. Maybe he’s letting his imagination run wild, but Nate just can’t help himself. He slows naturally along with Sunjata, not seeming to even notice as he brings to mind some beast with gnarled, rootlike horns, long and sleek and angry.
What did the rumours say? His arms wrap around Sunjata’s snout, Nate leaning in to better meet the great slotted eyes. He is utterly transfixed, hook and worm both stuck somewhere in his gullet.
i love those quiet moments in the dark
where you can stop pretending
where you can stop pretending
