Having not read today's hopeless obituaries, the rice sepulcher that the scream queen was pallbearing her disjointed wooden corpse toward was unknown. If his horror had seen the vibrancy of the dawn and busted, danced and folded uncluttered to the floor already in the undoing descent of the doors Sunday's best, hers would be just at its tiptoes. A dead skeleton poke pouring out from another world. Hello, stranger.
In a place where madness moans and writhes, hearts and minds prance limply over bedsheets to die, the trickiest lesson to learn while steering in a sea of melancholy and numb is how to communicate with only your eyes. There was an entire cinema of confusion, anger, and then consequently ... was that hurt? Had the puppet Pinocchio sang with been tricked? As she brought the slayed whale bones back to shore? Were these strings going to hold them down? Of course acceptance came next, with a slouch of demoness spine and a defeated sigh he'd never hear. Her eyes were a moonlight sonata that thrived and perished right in front of him.
What other cruelty could she have visited upon him? Oh, she could think of plenty, but...
Instead, she just lifted the sake with a cemetery truce smile, fingering the wire bones to hold them steady.