ft. @citry
she has been chasing ghosts and old things like that’s some way of living that won’t destroy her. that’s alright. fate had left her a perilous thing, stripped her of expectations. she keeps thinking back to that saying, beggars can’t be choosers, but lately it dawned on her that she had made her choice the moment she set off asking questions and poking where she knew the beasts laid sleeping, waiting for the flesh.
today, fate has come to her in a supermarket. it’s almost anti-climactic when you put it like that.
there’s a carton box of 3% milk waiting to slip from her hand when it feels like it’s going limp and heavy. inside her mind, the speakers go off in that commercial voice reminder, accident on isle three, please send somebody for the clean-up. one time she read in moments of extreme distress the human body goes on high alert and everything feels like it’s in slow motion. right now time feels like it has come to a halt.
she knows his face. that’s the logical fact, but then again she knows a lot of faces. she needs a correction; she knows his eyes. it’s a double-take. this isn’t the scary part. he knows her back. that? that changes everything.
when she steps towards him it’s a conscious effort of cautiousness mixed with the gravitational pull she always has for things that are blatantly wrong and blatantly dangerous. her voice is so high-strung it might break from the tension. “excuse me? do i-- know you?”
