“AND DEEP IN OUR SECRET HEARTS
WE WORRIED THAT WE WERE AN ACCIDENT,”
WE WORRIED THAT WE WERE AN ACCIDENT,”
This is not my darkness.
There are no stars gathered around me in patterns whispering to me of song, and fable, and future. I can hear no music in the blackness. I can taste no blood on the comet's tail that signals the readiness of the war-field. I do not taste the sugar of a harp, or the acid of an arrow whistling almost sweetly between the scattered brightness of my sisters.
All I can taste is bitterness, herbal and acrid, as I wander the nothingness of this strange darkness. Ahead there is black, behind there is black. And I wonder if I am nothing more than a shadow here, a thing reaped down into cells and tossed into the furthest reaches of the cosmic darkness where there is no sun to light up the asteroid fields. I wonder if I have wings, or form, or a heart beating frail and frantic as a hummingbird in my chest.
Am I the hummingbird?
I start to run and my hooves (are they hooves, or do I move with nothing but trails of dead-light in the black?) make no sounds in this oil-thick darkness. This is not the cosmic darkness I remember were the blackness was full of so much light that it looked like it was fat with nothing. There I made sound, and song, and whispers of feathers, as I sang bright and loudly enough that I turned from star to mother-sun.
There I was--
What was I?
What I am?
I think I'm lost, as my gallop turns frantic. I think I'm blind as I turn my head sharp as a whip and never see a sliver of light. Left. Right. Blackness. Nothing. I think I'm-
Oh I think I'm dead.
And like a dying star, I open my mouth and scream loud as a stone falling through an atmosphere.
I don't want to carry wishes anymore.
I only want freedom.
I only want light.
I need light.
And I don't think I'll ever stop screaming. Even when I'm dead I'll scream until the blackness speckles with constellations again.
@Vercingtorix
There are no stars gathered around me in patterns whispering to me of song, and fable, and future. I can hear no music in the blackness. I can taste no blood on the comet's tail that signals the readiness of the war-field. I do not taste the sugar of a harp, or the acid of an arrow whistling almost sweetly between the scattered brightness of my sisters.
All I can taste is bitterness, herbal and acrid, as I wander the nothingness of this strange darkness. Ahead there is black, behind there is black. And I wonder if I am nothing more than a shadow here, a thing reaped down into cells and tossed into the furthest reaches of the cosmic darkness where there is no sun to light up the asteroid fields. I wonder if I have wings, or form, or a heart beating frail and frantic as a hummingbird in my chest.
Am I the hummingbird?
I start to run and my hooves (are they hooves, or do I move with nothing but trails of dead-light in the black?) make no sounds in this oil-thick darkness. This is not the cosmic darkness I remember were the blackness was full of so much light that it looked like it was fat with nothing. There I made sound, and song, and whispers of feathers, as I sang bright and loudly enough that I turned from star to mother-sun.
There I was--
What was I?
What I am?
I think I'm lost, as my gallop turns frantic. I think I'm blind as I turn my head sharp as a whip and never see a sliver of light. Left. Right. Blackness. Nothing. I think I'm-
Oh I think I'm dead.
And like a dying star, I open my mouth and scream loud as a stone falling through an atmosphere.
I don't want to carry wishes anymore.
I only want freedom.
I only want light.
I need light.
And I don't think I'll ever stop screaming. Even when I'm dead I'll scream until the blackness speckles with constellations again.
@
