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More from *Wolf-Flash

sunny, chance of cloudburst Tired of

Being
just another
[reinforcement] thread.

Standing on the edge and wondering.

To pull the trigger
and
fly
[gun’s not loaded, anyhow.]

Watching time slide away like a reservoir of quicksand.

Wanting to cry
and kick
and scream.
[but afraid to, too.]

Two?

Just
another
number.
[I don’t want to be
justanothernumber.]

Counting down from zero.

Seeing profound waters,
so painfully shallow.
[not enough to drown in, only
chockeandgurgleandsplutter]

Passing off snarls for a smile.

Wanting to knock on the door
and realizing,
[No-one is home.]

But still waiting, when they won’t be.
The Washer On some days I want to throw you into the washer and jump in after you.

I would set spin speed to maximum and add three extra rinses: one for me and two for the concept of us. The world would spin-and-whirl-and-spin until we merge into one and tumble intoeachother in a never-ending cycle: rinse-and-spin-and-wash-and-rinse all over again. We would tumble-and-tumble-and-fall until we are nothing left but limbs entwined at impossible angles- but we would come out clean, we would come out clean.

At night, I am scared because I look-but-never-find, because in the distance I can hear something hum-and-gurgle and hiss at me.

But most of all, I am
Little Sparrow (Once, we’d found a sparrow nest in the absence of the parent birds.)

We used to call her Little Sparrow. Helpless and feeble and different, like some strange baby bird left in the wrong nest. We were hawks back then, anyhow.

(They were soft and warm, delicate and vulnerable.)

We liked to throw rocks and stones, when we were still young and wild and knew next to nothing. Often, we’d fling some at her just as well. Sometimes, we’d do worse. Far worse.

(Slingshots were fun to us, in those days- particularly at point-blank range.)

One day, she finally turned to look at us straight in the eyes: outnumbered, but suddenly bolder
The Cat Two months later, I saw it. Or rather, them.

It was sleek and ebony as the setting dusk, a shadow of unpromising prospect. They were the twin pallid amber coals resting upon its sable visage, foretelling one thousand tales of despair.

Only as I hurried away, feigning unsight, did I come to realization. Those were the very orbs that had fixated themselves upon oblivion sixty-one days younger, beneath throes of jealousy and blinded glare.

It was also they that had stared heavenward, forty-three days prior, from out the casket in reply.

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August 9, 2010
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:iconwolf-flash:
Hey lookie, Star Fox fans, it's Krystal!!!

I'm debating whether or I should just erase this sketch. The paper supply in my sketchbook is thinning... literally. Maybe I'll color this digitally back in Canada? Who knows........
:icongreywave:
~greywave Aug 9, 2010
I HOPE Krystal isn't shopping for jewelry... :XD:

If you have the sketch alive somewhere digital, and you judge the place could have been used in a better manner, you could probably erase it without being troubled by your conscience ;p

--
Questions at: [link]
Reply
:iconwolf-flash:
*Wolf-Flash Aug 9, 2010
What, you mean those trolleys they push during the flight with the merchandise on it? Since she's the flight attendant, she should be the one SELLING said jewelry. XD

So yep, since it's all scanned in I could always download it again when I'm back in Canada...
Reply
:icongreywave:
~greywave Aug 11, 2010
Oops, I meant selling. Shopping conveys the general idea though...
"Hello, my name is Krystal. May I interest you with a few... Rubies?"

But if you feel like keeping it...

--
Questions at: [link]
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