|Schrödinger's Hamlet (septimussmith) wrote in the100,|
@ 2016-03-08 10:57:00
|Entry tags:||!network post, !trigger, septimus smith|
To everyone in the play, you're kicking my arse rather soundly in practise and I'm going to be sore for the rest of my days. Cheers to the lot of you.
And up yours, White Witch. If indeed you do exist.
I saw him in the wings - Evans, his uniform faded with the weather and his breast jacket spattered with mud. He is clean-shaven, silent. There is no gore, no death but that paleness which makes me wonder. I think I saw him smile.
Is this madness again? Is this Bradshaw's proportion with new-sharpened teeth wearing at my heels for being so happy for so long? Or ... I could live in this world with its veil ripped to shreds. When I make friends with the dead, when the newly woken sparrows chatter in Greek and we do not cut down trees. I could congregate amongst these silent, observant ghosts.