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[Jan. 24th, 2009|12:55 am] |
*wends her way above the streets of Grand Fork West, toeing along powerlines and clotheslines, skirting the rain gutters and rooftops, drifting with the odd updraft here and there, taking in the relative quiet of a city asleep* (*and Qualmë will be busy tonight, it seems—so many lifelights burning down to the wick's end, measured in seconds and minutes instead of days or years*)
*treads unseen, of course, but she cannot help noticing the lone man shuffling down the alleyway (a quick little boy with missing front teeth and unruly hair)(a stooped old codger with fewer teeth and no hair at all); the teenaged girls lighting each others' cigarettes in the empty lot (innocent at birth, so lovely and new)(their beauty fades, stripped by age and the poison they breathe); the young couple driving home, their thoughts trained on the barely-there belly-bump (and they vanish into flames and smoke, their lives uprooted before they began); and she would mourn them all, perhaps, if she were anything more or less than a mere servant of Time*
*eventually alights on a familiar window sill and fades through the glass* *steps down with hardly a whisper to disturb the curtains* *glances around* Oh. You really are moving then, my Kirin? |
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[Nov. 13th, 2008|12:01 am] |
*putters around in his kitchen, whipping up some quick dinner before he dives into the evening's work*
*is having to force himself to actually pay attention to the cooking part* (*highly doubts the old "I had forty-seven other things on my mind" excuse would impress the insurance company if he were to start a fire (even though it would be close to the truth)*)
*snags the bottle of Worcestershire sauce from the fridge and, as usual, is reminded of the serial burglar who made a habit of stealing the mustard from each home he robbed (oh, that was an interesting sight in the courtroom, those eighteen bottles of mustard—and the odd ketchup from the house that didn't have any mustard)* *smiles a bit to himself* Seven years and counting, Kirin. When's that going to stop being funny? |
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calm