“AND DEEP IN OUR SECRET HEARTS
WE WORRIED THAT WE WERE AN ACCIDENT,”
WE WORRIED THAT WE WERE AN ACCIDENT,”
There is that feeling again, the one of being caught in a tornado between a girl, a star, and hunger. It stretches over her soul like a bruise as blue-black and glittering as the twilight. It aches and trembles like a mouse in a dark cage where there should only been silver moonlight.
It hurts. Oh it hurts.
And she wonders if it is the nature of not-stars to look at the constellations and beg for pathways when they are not strong enough to lead. She wonders if he's wishing on whatever it is she used to be for strength, and courage, and violence when he skitters away from it like a shadow from a fire. The girl sobbing in the marrow of her wildcat bones wastes away to nothing, nothing, nothing at the injustice of this awful, mortal, coil. The star hurts and sobs and falls from the blackness into the blood-red of rage, and wrath, and predatory need.
They fall, and fade, and wither, and sob. They dissolve until only the feline is left, only the beast of tooth and claw. Only the thing that looks at silver eyes, and tiger eyes, and hungers for the meat around their rib cages.
There is no curse now. Only need.
A starving leopard does not care for sorrow, and caution, and boys who do know how to decide. She does not care for things like justice, retribution, and revenge. She does not care for sorrow, and hate, and unmaking. All her thoughts are hot with hunger and oil-thick with blood. The teeth in her mouth ache like hollow things begging for water, and salvation. There is spit in her mouth that snarls in anticipation instead of lament. And she does not hear the horses looking out their windows and whispering between each other if it's better to turn away or become a hero.
She only hears the trash of hoof and sand and flesh as the stallion on the ground kicks at the silver-eyed one. Beneath the sound of his rage his heart is humming a melody of fear and prayer. The echo of it sparks like a comet in her wildcat soul. It calls her home.
A starving leopard does not care for anything but that humming heart.
She does not look at the golden boy who could not decide as she grabs the tiger-eyed stallion by his throat and drags him into the darkness between the building. And the girl inside her shatters even as the star goes cold, and dark, and all her fire goes out.
The leopard purrs.
@August
It hurts. Oh it hurts.
And she wonders if it is the nature of not-stars to look at the constellations and beg for pathways when they are not strong enough to lead. She wonders if he's wishing on whatever it is she used to be for strength, and courage, and violence when he skitters away from it like a shadow from a fire. The girl sobbing in the marrow of her wildcat bones wastes away to nothing, nothing, nothing at the injustice of this awful, mortal, coil. The star hurts and sobs and falls from the blackness into the blood-red of rage, and wrath, and predatory need.
They fall, and fade, and wither, and sob. They dissolve until only the feline is left, only the beast of tooth and claw. Only the thing that looks at silver eyes, and tiger eyes, and hungers for the meat around their rib cages.
There is no curse now. Only need.
A starving leopard does not care for sorrow, and caution, and boys who do know how to decide. She does not care for things like justice, retribution, and revenge. She does not care for sorrow, and hate, and unmaking. All her thoughts are hot with hunger and oil-thick with blood. The teeth in her mouth ache like hollow things begging for water, and salvation. There is spit in her mouth that snarls in anticipation instead of lament. And she does not hear the horses looking out their windows and whispering between each other if it's better to turn away or become a hero.
She only hears the trash of hoof and sand and flesh as the stallion on the ground kicks at the silver-eyed one. Beneath the sound of his rage his heart is humming a melody of fear and prayer. The echo of it sparks like a comet in her wildcat soul. It calls her home.
A starving leopard does not care for anything but that humming heart.
She does not look at the golden boy who could not decide as she grabs the tiger-eyed stallion by his throat and drags him into the darkness between the building. And the girl inside her shatters even as the star goes cold, and dark, and all her fire goes out.
The leopard purrs.
@August
