i'm collecting all the feathers,
She lost everything when she jumped out that window.
She didn’t think twice, at the time, of leaping with no promise of safe landing; she just lunged in the direction of her sister’s hair and the shadow whisking her away. She hadn’t wings at the time.
Here the grass is green and soft and not dank, dark city streets with curbsides and fizzing lights. She is trapped there, though, and the sweet air is lost under the acid-hot stench of corroding flesh. Above, the sky is a blanket of baby blue, dotted with cumulus clouds. It is a gentle comfort and she is undeserving.
Sabrina does not fear, not in the way of a normal creature; but there is agitation, an unease, a burning bed of coals at the bottom of her mind that question her resolve. If she should pause and give herself to luxury-- to even the briefest of respite-- would she continue on? Or would she give up?
She could not question, nor risk. Her will was the only thing she retained. It would move her forward. There was no rest.
The first statue to speak to her caused her to pause and study it with an unimpressed eye. Such magic was commonplace in her homeland-- from living gargoyles to magic stone effigies. It was a gentle rumbling at first, but the more she listened, the clearer it became. Let me tell you the story of my birth.
“I don’t care about that.” Sabrina said, on the off chance this creature was sentient. “Tell me about my sister.”
Still it prattled on. She ducked her head and walked away.
The next one promised a tale beyond belief.
“Tell me about my sister,” she prompted. Again, it ignored her. As did the next, and the one after that. The babbling was getting annoying-- just the barest of whispers at the edge of her hearing, drawing her in; grating disappointment again and again.
Finally she came to one wedged upside-down in a hillside; originally perpendicular, gravity had pulled it down a bit. It swore to reveal the secret to life itself with a sickly, child-like smile on its face.
Sabrina lost it.
“Tell-- me-- about-- my-- sister!” Each word is punctuated by her pulling up her front hooves and crashing down on the statue’s face, splintering the speaking stone into a thousand intelligible fragments. Its babbling slows down and warps, like the forced slowness of a record being spun backward. With an angry shout, Sabrina rears, and hammers the statues head and shoulders straight off its body.
“Stupid-- useless-- piece of-- ass statue.” The expletives are muffled under her heavy breathing. hooves sore, back sore. Just sore.
She sniffs, petulant, chest forward, a challenge. Keep talking, losers. The statue has no more to say. Neither do the rest. Silence and the wind.
A shard of rock has sliced the meat of her hoof. She refuses to limp.
She lost everything when she jumped out that window.
Given the choice-- if she could go back and do it over-- she would do it again.
She didn’t think twice, at the time, of leaping with no promise of safe landing; she just lunged in the direction of her sister’s hair and the shadow whisking her away. She hadn’t wings at the time.
Here the grass is green and soft and not dank, dark city streets with curbsides and fizzing lights. She is trapped there, though, and the sweet air is lost under the acid-hot stench of corroding flesh. Above, the sky is a blanket of baby blue, dotted with cumulus clouds. It is a gentle comfort and she is undeserving.
Sabrina does not fear, not in the way of a normal creature; but there is agitation, an unease, a burning bed of coals at the bottom of her mind that question her resolve. If she should pause and give herself to luxury-- to even the briefest of respite-- would she continue on? Or would she give up?
She could not question, nor risk. Her will was the only thing she retained. It would move her forward. There was no rest.
The first statue to speak to her caused her to pause and study it with an unimpressed eye. Such magic was commonplace in her homeland-- from living gargoyles to magic stone effigies. It was a gentle rumbling at first, but the more she listened, the clearer it became. Let me tell you the story of my birth.
“I don’t care about that.” Sabrina said, on the off chance this creature was sentient. “Tell me about my sister.”
Still it prattled on. She ducked her head and walked away.
The next one promised a tale beyond belief.
“Tell me about my sister,” she prompted. Again, it ignored her. As did the next, and the one after that. The babbling was getting annoying-- just the barest of whispers at the edge of her hearing, drawing her in; grating disappointment again and again.
Finally she came to one wedged upside-down in a hillside; originally perpendicular, gravity had pulled it down a bit. It swore to reveal the secret to life itself with a sickly, child-like smile on its face.
Sabrina lost it.
“Tell-- me-- about-- my-- sister!” Each word is punctuated by her pulling up her front hooves and crashing down on the statue’s face, splintering the speaking stone into a thousand intelligible fragments. Its babbling slows down and warps, like the forced slowness of a record being spun backward. With an angry shout, Sabrina rears, and hammers the statues head and shoulders straight off its body.
“Stupid-- useless-- piece of-- ass statue.” The expletives are muffled under her heavy breathing. hooves sore, back sore. Just sore.
She sniffs, petulant, chest forward, a challenge. Keep talking, losers. The statue has no more to say. Neither do the rest. Silence and the wind.
A shard of rock has sliced the meat of her hoof. She refuses to limp.
She lost everything when she jumped out that window.
Given the choice-- if she could go back and do it over-- she would do it again.
@ ANYONE | "Speech."
angery
angery
that are falling off your wings.
