He doesn't know himself.

indie Randall Flagg

[lalocorleone-deactivated2026041]

“It is happening again.”

Twin Peaks, Episode 14 “Lonely Souls” (1990) dir. David Lynch

[dadalux]

Zhiyong Jing

[walkindvde]

[feleink]

[walkindvde]

haranged‌:

     Grace is waiting for him this time. He may come creeping out of the dark like a wounded dog looking for a place to die, but Grace shuts her eyes to the dark and lies in it, and she does this every night. This makes her accustomed to it, if not immune. And it might be that he thinks himself some sort of hunter, or a prince of the shadows, but princes know their kingdoms as well as they know their own bodies, which is to say that there are places that have never been touched, not even by their own hands. Grace knows her cell intimately, all over, the way you know the inside of your elbow: there is not much to see but she has seen it all. Every brick in the wall, every unyielding inch.

     So she is waiting for him. The moonlight is not strong enough for needlework but she has an unfinished patch in her hands anyway. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep that way. Grace picks him out of the darkness. She says, “Hello again.”

The moonlight cuts his silhouette out of the corner of the room, puts light in his eyes as they take shape. There’s a gleeful laugh at being spotted, the first one caught in a game of hide and seek. 

He should look familiar, so the nicety is expected. He’s never been cruel to her, not shown it bubbling away in him with anything but his words and the encouragement he gives her. ‘Got some capacity for loyalty, don’t you, Grace?’

[ferretfyre]

Angel Heart (1987, Alan Parker)

[dappermouth]

It spoke your name on the stairs that night.

[walkindvde]

bunburie‌:

     Wendy stands on the fringe of the room like a vampire waiting for permission to cross the threshold. The permission comes with a sudden jolt of reality as she takes in the space around him, the sickly darkness, the curtains waving in the chill creeping through the open window. The bottle, within arm’s reach. She sniffs and imagines the air is thick with the yeasty scent of beer or Al’s martians. It might be that – the smell, whether it’s imaginary or not – that pushes her forward with all the force of a big hand at the small of her back, a hard decisiveness. “It’s freezing in here, Jack. You’ll catch a cold.”

His hand is out to her now, open and waiting to be filled-- if she reached for him, he’d draw back and it would become a game. The bottle is hers if she wants it but it’s of no consequence. There are other games. ‘You’re right, I can’t sit here. Why don’t we go for a walk, Winifred? It’s just a beautiful night, dark and deep.’

[walkindvde]

@deadrattle

Maybe Danny can remember what his father’s face looks like. Before and after when not even teeth remained. Instead there was the scorched earth. There are teeth now, teeth and flesh in better shape than they should be after a few decades. ‘Betcha missed me.’

[walkindvde]

@bunburie

She might think he’s drunk, sat as he is with both hands cupping his face, elbows next to a bottle on the corner of the desk. The lamp isn’t on and it’s pitch dark outside. Wendy will have found the bed nearly cold. The expression will be uncharacteristic for Jack, too harsh on his features. ‘There you are, darlin’. Light of my life.’ 

[wormhole-eater-deactivated20171]

[denisvilleneuve]

As a species we’re fundamentally insane. Put more than two of us in a room, we pick sides and start dreaming up reasons to kill one another. Why do you think we invented politics and religion?

The Mist (2007) dir. Frank Darabont

[reddus-sideblog]

[walkindvde]

kosmic:

     “It does not.”

     “Liar.”

‘You don’t wanna check? Give it a little wiggle?’ He’s gesturing to his own face.

[walkindvde]

averygaye:

   “You can just close the door if you want.” Jesus christ she’d rather he didn’t though. This backpack’s weighty. “I’ll find a motel.”

‘Walked all this way like everyone else, did you? Well, we’ve always got room for more. Slots just keep openin’ up, it’s a real wonder.’ She won’t be interrupting too much.

[walkindvde]

bunburie:

     “I suppose so, yes.”

     Mary Whitney used to say that tricks are a man’s game, because he will vanish a coin in his hand and while you clap and coo the coin appears on the warm flesh of your inner thigh and his hand will follow.      Mary Whitney had a crass mind and she was very talented at running her mouth.

     Grace thinks all of this and knows he’ll hear it all, so she doesn’t need to say it out loud. “Are you from Hell?”

‘I should be so lucky.’ He’s had enough of the bars, he only needs to walk around them as a shadow, fading from her view for a few seconds, and he’s with her in this locked cage. ‘You think I’m here to take you, huh. You’ll see another day, I can guarantee it. Cross my heart.’

[walkindvde]

bunburie:

     “Who says I called you?” She doesn’t remember doing that. If it was in her sleep, then that’s a whole separate problem she’s going to have to deal with. “Wasn’t me, big boy.”

‘No, it was. You let your little light shine. Having trouble sleeping, dear heart?’ He rests against a pew, tapping his nails against the back, clearly not going anywhere.