Oceans moved with the tides, drawn by moons. Unseen puppet strings to lead them along sandy roads. Passed dead man’s crabs and bodies, sunken ships, coral graveyards and fish with halos. Lantern to lure the unwary. Light was a lie.
Light-blind, the teeth behind were invisible until the jaws were already shut and the hot wet running down kicking legs and struggling ribs. Sand stuck in wounds and caked. Drowned. The drowned men were dead men.
Dead and walking
Sulking, should be, wanted to be, could be would rather be
Flying. Soaring, singing.
There was only Noise
Noise, noise and the noise noise was outside while no words or colours except red dwelt inside only silence
Back to suffering.
Scratching? Came a scritch scritch crash upon the chamber and it shook his bones. The crunching bones, his own ribs gnawed out from inside Quiet. It had crawled in and he could not stop it. Crash. again.
Rock fell but did not hurt, had no weight underwater to impede the great steps that vibrated through the floor. It was no man. A demon, real, had come. He was damned.
Gathered, gathered. Lifted up like hands thrust into fallen petals and there was still no sound but the bull-breath of the living evil that crouched. Shadowed? There was a boy…girl? Boy? There. Painted soft and whiteRed hues and dressed for Murasaki’s tea and Igo.
Oh, it stirred, stretched. Why did they speak? His jaw would come off with much more and he would not sing again, unless the dead could. Hideo, he could smell Hideo. He wanted to kiss him again, with unmarred, memory lips and feel him warm and hard beneath him. In him. To hear that old name said with neither an r or an l, harsh in the deeps of inaka Japanese throats and yet melodious. Like the name itself was a supplication. Wrapped in white feathers and light, and loved. Free and loved as more then a technical achievement, a soldier, a teacher…he had been just himself. It hadn’t mattered what that self was, it was simply allowed and prayed to with staff and mantra. Rhythm, heat, tears and seed.