Repose hadn’t come freely before our delicate addition entered this world, but now --between the usual dose of insomnia and my active role being the provider for our nestling-- true sleep has morphed into a phenomenon. Infrequent…exhausting. However, when the blanket of restoration does eventually drop, it brings a gnarled plague of suppressed recollections to the surface of my subconscious...
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Squalls of bleached powder, filth. Like vermin they flog, lashing with their forked tongues and rattling stubs; riding a perpetual current of hot, grainy air that adheres to the back of our cotton throats. Relentless, those sharp torrents pummel into our rangy, hollowed bodies; their soldiers clump in our hair, foreign matter builds inside/out. Mud and salt is a froth upon our coat until we are of similar hue. Mercilessly, the burning harbinger forces his presence; he blisters the tops of our heads/vertebrae as we (the grounded) shuffle into the next crinkling footfall. Skeletal twigs impend from the cracked, tattered earth…their naked tops have been snapped, torn asunder by intense storms. The remainder clings with bleached bones and failing anchors.
“Nora…” gapping, discolored lips plead for help…
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Large, reddened irises are flung into action. Lips uncurl defensively, brandishing their foul, harsh noise of grief as my panicked crown jerks abruptly from that bed of bruised reeds. Dazed and bewildered, I flinch – attempting to jerk free of the ghost that reaches to claim me. Insanity settles upon shadowed features…Ears twitch. Threatened fibers become as wood, “it’s Miette,” the cloud of reflection dissolves, his imploring concern twinges the icy corners of my expression. Fear is traded for internal anguish and shame, “N-noah?” Dawning realization prods for recovery, “Miette?” Heavy, trembling vocals reach for our pixie child. Stiff forelegs uncurl at once, their shoulders amass beneath me. Once upright, these frowning brims tilt downward, allowing a cascade of onyx to hide me from the possibility of judgement or retaliation. Clenched molars drown the suffered tightness; they maul and choke those spectral beasts while I tenderly guide our nursling into the widening mouth of one outstretched wing, “restez près de moi…”
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Jaws uncouple, amazed – openly captivated by how the alien pillars seem to blossom up from the impassible cradle, boasting their weathered rods of lime and marble. These craggy, cobbled floor/walls aren’t like those that were chiseled by the artistic hand of time, they weren’t hollowed from the belly of dingy granite…these…are something different! Their alignment suggests that someone/something planted them in an effort to mimic that of a natural cavern. Papery shutters pull upon a surprising variety of fresh odors…Anxious arms remain slack at my waist – though when approached with the suggestion of going past the threshold – they mirror his mistrust and resettle, coiling tightly. When the eagle turns…I stretch to full capacity, eager meet those whiskered lips for a taste of reassurance.
When his attention is pulled elsewhere, my questioning unease and growling anticipation is pleading to follow. Optics rotate, seeking the path his eyes blaze – dual hued ears notch forward, capturing the verbal feedback. Noxia? Her name hangs in the air for but a moment before a feminine response echoes into view. Irises narrow, fixed past him. Mini me edges forward, a grim, suspicious line marring her face.
@Noah
[hover over text for a translation!]
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Squalls of bleached powder, filth. Like vermin they flog, lashing with their forked tongues and rattling stubs; riding a perpetual current of hot, grainy air that adheres to the back of our cotton throats. Relentless, those sharp torrents pummel into our rangy, hollowed bodies; their soldiers clump in our hair, foreign matter builds inside/out. Mud and salt is a froth upon our coat until we are of similar hue. Mercilessly, the burning harbinger forces his presence; he blisters the tops of our heads/vertebrae as we (the grounded) shuffle into the next crinkling footfall. Skeletal twigs impend from the cracked, tattered earth…their naked tops have been snapped, torn asunder by intense storms. The remainder clings with bleached bones and failing anchors.
“Nora…” gapping, discolored lips plead for help…
-----
Large, reddened irises are flung into action. Lips uncurl defensively, brandishing their foul, harsh noise of grief as my panicked crown jerks abruptly from that bed of bruised reeds. Dazed and bewildered, I flinch – attempting to jerk free of the ghost that reaches to claim me. Insanity settles upon shadowed features…Ears twitch. Threatened fibers become as wood, “it’s Miette,” the cloud of reflection dissolves, his imploring concern twinges the icy corners of my expression. Fear is traded for internal anguish and shame, “N-noah?” Dawning realization prods for recovery, “Miette?” Heavy, trembling vocals reach for our pixie child. Stiff forelegs uncurl at once, their shoulders amass beneath me. Once upright, these frowning brims tilt downward, allowing a cascade of onyx to hide me from the possibility of judgement or retaliation. Clenched molars drown the suffered tightness; they maul and choke those spectral beasts while I tenderly guide our nursling into the widening mouth of one outstretched wing, “restez près de moi…”
-----
Jaws uncouple, amazed – openly captivated by how the alien pillars seem to blossom up from the impassible cradle, boasting their weathered rods of lime and marble. These craggy, cobbled floor/walls aren’t like those that were chiseled by the artistic hand of time, they weren’t hollowed from the belly of dingy granite…these…are something different! Their alignment suggests that someone/something planted them in an effort to mimic that of a natural cavern. Papery shutters pull upon a surprising variety of fresh odors…Anxious arms remain slack at my waist – though when approached with the suggestion of going past the threshold – they mirror his mistrust and resettle, coiling tightly. When the eagle turns…I stretch to full capacity, eager meet those whiskered lips for a taste of reassurance.
When his attention is pulled elsewhere, my questioning unease and growling anticipation is pleading to follow. Optics rotate, seeking the path his eyes blaze – dual hued ears notch forward, capturing the verbal feedback. Noxia? Her name hangs in the air for but a moment before a feminine response echoes into view. Irises narrow, fixed past him. Mini me edges forward, a grim, suspicious line marring her face.
@Noah
[hover over text for a translation!]
