Tagged today by the lovely @epiphany-jones whose first thing in the morning poetry assault got me in the ennui-weeds (enn-weeds?) all day.
I've been in a funk and feeling it so let's drag ourselves up by our goddamn creative booty-straps (pretty sure that's panties ok I'm sticking with it) and drabble something out. @sorrygoldfish @adejareve @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai because you've all tagged me recently for some sentences 😘
Below the break: a scene based on this bit of the Richard Siken poem "Straw House Straw Dog"
I don’t really blame you for being dead but you can't have your sweater back.
Which fits in perfectly for the current POV of my Rook in Purple Haze, who from the epilogue of Back When You Were Mine thinks Lucanis Dellamorte is dead.
So then it is Rook’s turn to flee, to anywhere but the haunted streets of Treviso, where the memory of a handsome little boy peeks out at her from every corner.
Enjoy the angst!
(<250 words)
Are you sure you want to leave, little Gi?”
Teia is just inside the doorframe of Rook’s bedroom in Villa de Riva.
Her brother’s shadow ghosts back-and-forth beyond as he paces the hallway.
“I can’t stay,” she huffs, tugging open another drawer to spill its contents into her traveling case. “He’s everywhere, T — everywhere I look.”
Teia’s reply and Viago’s inarticulate grumbling are both lost upon Rook because suddenly in her hands —
A silk sleeping tunic, worn and soft. It’s old and long unused…
This tunic is one half of a matched set. Its mate is a high-waisted pant, pinned close at the ankles and flaring loosely in the same silken brocade. The set was a gift from Lucanis. He chose the weave and the fit and then he gifted the pajamas to her one Wintersend past.
(She wore the tunic, bare-legged; he, the pants, bare-chested. A matched set.)
A matched set.
Rook stuffs the silk into her trunk, saying forcefully through her tears, “I’m going, T. I can’t stay here if he’s —“
“Say no more of it,” her brother says gently, his grumbles all gone. “You’re going. Just don’t forget your knives.”
GENERAL FIASCO (Something, Sometime)
Magherafelt, Co. Derry, Ireland
http://www.generalfiasco.co.uk/
She said I'm hit, I'm down, I'm bleeding, I'm dying
Oh yeah, well, I found out it's better we don't get out much
'Cause we're not well
Someone tried to warn us, someone tried to warn us
That it don't get better than this
