In transition. (drippedink) wrote in deadly_syntax,
In transition.
drippedink
deadly_syntax

Title: Bleat.
Author: Ethan (Hoods@witty.com)
Rating: Your mother.
Summary: Lyrical post.

This was a suitable arrangement for both cosmos-eyed children--the elder settled in the window seat with his head bowed over a leather bound book like a saint while the younger fanned fabric out from her lap in waves of scarlet and black as fingers plucked a threaded needle through the adjoining pieces like harp strings. They sat in silence, each stitching together lines of their story even as he swiped his finger over the last line of the page and dropped the book from his hands. She startled and looked up from her work with a look for questioning.

"Smeared black ink." He explained with hands sliding along the black caps of his knees where fabric creased in the same divide he was finding in his own mind.

"Your palms are sweaty." She commented to him while thread was pulled high through fabric, her eyes were focused on her work, no longer on him--downcast like severed halves of a wishing well.

"And I'm barely listening..." He slid legs from their perch in the window seat and stood, smoothing down slacks and tugging on the ends of his vest in an attempt to straighten his appearance. His book was peeled from the seat as he walked toward the door, turning its handle before he offered a toast without any glass to solidify its significance. "To last demands."

The streets were paved in gray. Soot and ash turned everything that was bright muted--a kind of monotony only found in industrialization. He wandered past the busy bodies with heavy mourner's umbrellas open even though there was no sign of rain. The labyrinthine thoughts in his mind flew past his mouth (the cherry chalice of intoxication) like wine.

"I'm staring at the asphalt..." He began slowly, watching his footwork until toes landed on grass.

"Wondering what's buried underneath?" Broken English chimed in beside him, a girl with brightly colored paper who extended her hand toward him.

"Where I am." He looked up from his feet towards the girl and took the offered sheet of paper. It was spun between fingers before he peeled the backing away so that the emblazoned emblem might be pressed against the collar of his vest. "I'll wear my badge."

"A vinyl sticker, with big block letters!" The girl clapped awkwardly as her face lit up with excitement at the correction.

"Adherent to my chest." He dipped his head in a nod as the end of the sticker was smoothed down. "That tells your new friends--"

"I am a visitor here." She interrupted with a hand colliding against his arm.

"I am not permanent." He lamented words to her with a sad smile before he turned away from her, walking backwards as the sky broke open with rain that he swore was a farce. "And the only thing keeping me dry is where I am." He rose arms as the rain began to pelt him while she found shelter under an awning.

"You seem so out of context." She called to him as he spoke, shaking her head rapidly.

"In this gaudy apartment complex?" He laughed as his body twisted to narrowly escape a woman with keys dangling from her fingers as she ran towards the door. "A stranger." Fingers pointed towards the running woman as he spoke.

"With your door key?" The girl sidestepped as the man approached, tucking the paper under her arm as fingers ran along her arms to keep in what little warmth she had.

"Explaining that--"

"I'm just visiting." Again, she reached out to touch his arm with a sympathetic smile as he looked back with a hand gesturing towards the door that had already closed shut.

"And I am finally seeing, " He spoke softly as shoulders slumped when he looked towards her. "Why I was the one worth leaving."

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