Fear oozes through the skin of her palms and makes her hopes clammy. She breathes… The scent of passionflower dances into her thoughts, calms her into taking a tiny first step towards the door. The studio is too dark for her to see the deadbolt or security chain, but the echoes of their laughter bites into her bones. Tears feed the gloom, and fill her vision with vintage rage.
in the dark,
anxiety and dreams
wish to fly
Anger begins to brew in the hollow of her throat, it consumes her wails, sharpens her teeth, roses her cheeks. She eats the distance between fear and the door, magics the darkness away with a flick of a switch. The foyer mirror shows her a face beautified and bolstered by the kicks of Fate’s steel thorned boots. She breathes… twists the deadbolt and unchains her safety cage.
in the bones
Hurt is too dark or too bright energy that squeezes much too tight, she breathes her thoughts into the world… she flies.
the wee notes…
– Partly inspired by the following Terry Pratchett quote, in The Wee Free Men: “…anger was better than fear. Fear was a damp cold mess, but anger had an edge. She could use it.”
– Written for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Weekend Mini-Challenge – Trying “No More”), Sanaa’s Prompt Nights (Love of beauty is taste. The creation of beauty is Art.), Expanding Bits of Fiction and Poetry into Haibun (12), and for Rereading My Pratchett.
– P.S. If you’ve yet to join May Monster Madness, 2016, you should take a look-see. 😉