floating in a tin can
I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of bluegreen leaves with its watery sun & three moons towards the cave where you must descend, towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you from the grief at the center of your dream, from the grief at the center I would like to follow you up the long stairway again & become the boat that would row you back carefully, a flame in two cupped hands to where your body lies beside me, and as you enter it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

- margaret atwood

June 2017

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Posts Tagged: '2016.02'

Feb. 28th, 2016


[info]sinclearly
[info]spaceodyssey

[info]sinclearly
[info]spaceodyssey

OUR HANDS ARE TIED HERE


[info]sinclearly
[info]spaceodyssey
February 28, 2016
Sinclair stands outside the police station, blinking tiredly at his cell phone. He has over thirty missed calls and almost 200 unread texts. No surprise there.

As guilty as he feels, this isn't the time to respond to any of them. The longer he stands here, the more he's tempting fate. It would be fantastic if he could just hail a cab on his own and go home without any fanfare, but he's not that stupid and this isn't the time to play roulette. He's always telling the kids in the District to ask for help when they need it and he tries to practice what he preaches.

Who to ask, though? Someone who's probably not working right now, or is flexible with their hours. (Also awake or could be awake. What time is it, anyway...) Someone who can travel more safely than he can. Someone trustworthy. Someone who won't give him a bunch of shit.

He goes to his contacts, hits the name ‘Samantha,’ and puts the phone to his ear.
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