We spend so much more time in the Don't-Go-Crazy room now. Grace is obsessed with whatever it is he sees on those large, flat panels that cover the walls. He's smart enough that he realized fairly early into our journey back to Erid that despite the aid of my texture pad, I can't follow along as well with the flat images he watches. So he started describing them to me instead – the landscapes, the objects, the people and animals, and most bafflingly, the colors that I will never see.
I'm pretending to listen, sometimes even repeating his words back to him, but the truth is I'm not that interested in what he's describing. All I can focus on is how he's describing it. The low, rough tones of his voice, made even deeper in his effort to speak quietly. The barely contained emotion – strained and breathless when a scene has him on the verge of tears – or speaking a little faster, his tone pitched a little higher when he's anticipating one of his favorite moments and encouraging me to 'watch.'
Truthfully, the majority of the time, I only focus on him. The way his muscles shift and tense when the ominous music has him on edge. The way a line of dialogue will suddenly put a stupid grin on his face.
"If I were Tom Hanks, you'd be like my Wilson, you know?"
I opt to make an untranslatable noise, hoping it sounds like vague interest or agreement. I have no idea what the ♩♯♪ he's talking about.
Grace seems happy, though, and continues describing the scenes to me. He makes sure that I get a good view of what a palm tree looks like, and the silhouette of the island mountains against the sky. Their shapes are indeed interesting, but not as interesting as the palm of Grace's hand, or the dozens of delicate bones comprising his fingers and wrist.
About 2,000 Earth seconds later, I learn that Grace was comparing me to a ♩♯♪♫ volleyball.
We spend so much more time in the Don't-Go-Crazy room now. Grace is obsessed with whatever it is he sees on those large, flat panels that cover the walls. He's smart enough that he realized fairly early into our journey back to Erid that despite the aid of my texture pad, I can't follow along as well with the flat images he watches. So he started describing them to me instead – the landscapes, the objects, the people and animals, and most bafflingly, the colors that I will never see.
I'm pretending to listen, sometimes even repeating his words back to him, but the truth is I'm not that interested in what he's describing. All I can focus on is how he's describing it. The low, rough tones of his voice, made even deeper in his effort to speak quietly. The barely contained emotion – strained and breathless when a scene has him on the verge of tears – or speaking a little faster, his tone pitched a little higher when he's anticipating one of his favorite moments and encouraging me to 'watch.'
Truthfully, the majority of the time, I only focus on him. The way his muscles shift and tense when the ominous music has him on edge. The way a line of dialogue will suddenly put a stupid grin on his face.
"If I were Tom Hanks, you'd be like my Wilson, you know?"
I opt to make an untranslatable noise, hoping it sounds like vague interest or agreement. I have no idea what the ♩♯♪ he's talking about.
Grace seems happy, though, and continues describing the scenes to me. He makes sure that I get a good view of what a palm tree looks like, and the silhouette of the island mountains against the sky. Their shapes are indeed interesting, but not as interesting as the palm of Grace's hand, or the dozens of delicate bones comprising his fingers and wrist.
About 2,000 Earth seconds later, I learn that Grace was comparing me to a ♩♯♪♫ volleyball.
It's bad manners to talk over movies, he tells me. But Grace talks the entire time, telling me pieces of information about the film, describing the scenes to me, or rambling into little tangents of things he's reminded of.
I don't remember the movies or their plots. I am too busy memorizing the low tones of Grace's voice and studying the shape of his form so I will notice if anything changes.
I wish I could actually lay on his chest when he sleeps. It's not enough to watch his chest rise and fall with his breath. It's not enough to feel his heart beating indirectly. I want to hold it in my hands.
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Love the soft, curious moments of them sharing about their own cultures, biology, etc. I do think Rocky would have a field day when Grace explains skin as a very sensitive and permeable organ with lots of stuff packed tight on the surface. Since goosebumps are very tactile, I thought Rocky would enjoy hearing those.
Also, bonus.
Because it is endlessly entertaining to me to consider how deep in the trenches Rocky is.
Omg I love this piece. Grace the hanging man, content with his life but cannot avoid the changes coming; the ship his noose, the rope that binds him to his fate; the blood red stars beside him, Olesya and Yáo the angels haunting him in the background. Eva Stratt, the one who holds it all on her back, the world is literally on her shoulders, the Petrova line on her neck. She will not falter, cannot afford to move, and yet still she glares at us. Eva challenges us, daring us to ask if we could do better, if we could hold her burden for even a fraction of the time.
Eve, the mother of sin, who held the world in her hands and was cursed for not knowing.
Eva, director of the task force, who now holds the world, and still must curse man to save it.
In the end, it always falls on a woman. I could never hate you Eva Stratt
blakekathryn
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vaporwave
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
baratheonpilled
germansingergirl
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