IPOMOEA
let's be wildflowers
I
n the end there is only this: two Sovereigns sharing a loaf of bread while around them, the belly of the city curls in upon itself from hunger. It is why the bread tastes like ash on his tongue, why after the first bite he cannot bear to swallow the second. Not when the memory of hunger is clutching at him, not when he knows all too well what it is like to stand on these very streets and beg the shopkeep who tended this building for a bit of the bread he had burned by mistake.Ipomoea wants to tell him that he should have bought everything the bakery had to offer. That he should have done more. That they did not kill Raum and his monster for the city to die a slower death.
"Thank you for the bread," his voice is as thin as a whisper as he stands. "I hope you have enough of it to feed your starving city."
Because in his eyes are a promise, when he leaves the rundown shop behind and goes out into the sun, and the sand. And it is there in every fig tree and prickly pear and prairie poppy that grows in his footsteps. If you do not -- I will.
@orestes | "speaks" |
