Untaaura Verratoa
Sep 13th, 2018, 12:43:44 AM
Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed one?
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
The chrono read four in the morning, and she roused with a sharp intake of breath. The lights were still on in her quarters. The mattress of her bed was stuffed along the far wall so that she could sleep in a sitting position, keeping her carbine in a three point sling cinched flush to her shoulder. The bed frame and box spring were thrown lengthwise against the door.
It was a defensible position. And not a sound came out save the sound of her breathing. There was always danger in silence. The universe held its breath in anticipation. Potential energy stored in a bunched spring and a drawn hammer. You learned to listen for what you couldn't hear.
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
Creatine, protein, and rip shots were downed all in the same glass, which she threw into the sink of her small refresher. The sonics hummed as she stepped past the curtain, letting the grime and the aches of insufficient uncomfortable sleep ripple away. Her fingers found her razor on the shower ledge. The other hand pumped sublimating lather into waiting fingers, which she massaged along her temples and the back of her head. The blade policed the perimeter of her head, singing quietly as she glided against the grain while she felt with her fingertips. None of it required thinking. She was far away from here.
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
A few keystrokes at the wall terminal brought up the HoloNet interface, and she called up the sector obituaries. There was a two second delay. Long enough for the gravity to fall out of her stomach as she waited, expecting the worst. If you expected the worst, you were never disappointed. A few more seconds to refine her search. A few more seconds to see faces she recognized in her head, wondering if she'd see them in the list. Name. Age. Survived by. Distinguished service to the Pride. Veteran. Were they alone when it happened? Scared and alone and looking for the next handful of rope only to find the frayed edge?
The fighting was over. But nothing was over. Not until your name showed up.
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin'
Five kilometers a day at a minimum. A marine went dull if they weren't dragged along the whetstone on a regular basis. Her boots clapped the deck as she kept her pace. Her sweat baptized her. The thump of her blood in her ears kept her in cadence. The few people on the concourse at this hour gave her a wide berth. Still a hundred faces and a dozen races. A rainbow of expressions. The ones who met her eyes and the ones who avoided them alike merited a survivor's suspicion. Every one of them with the potential of a saint or a killer. A parade of unknowns that stoked a buried coal fire of hidden hatreds and resentments.
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin'
In her scant idle time, she was alone with a pad and a stylus. A lifetime ago, she'd been a writer. She'd thirsted and hungered for the fruit of deepest shared experience. It wasn't enough to write it. She had to live the thing. Taste it. Hold it in her hand. Stare at the thing and not blink or look away if it stared back. She had no audience. No readership. Writing never became her career, but the base yearning to snatch parts of the universe and put them to text stayed with her. But she hadn't expected what she'd find wouldn't make sense, even to an audience of one. Now, she wrote until her hand ached with cramps. In the end, she deleted almost all of it. The futility of her recent attempts curdled dread in her stomach. Was there anything in her to say? If so, how did she tell the story?
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
Holidays came and went. Remembered birthdays came and went. The social rituals were all there and waiting, but she was alone. It was a loneliness that smothered her, pushed down on her chest until her breath squeezed out. Some of the bridges, she'd burned one way or another. Some of the bridges were blown to bits before she could take a step across. Her parents who disowned her. The true love she'd found. Gone.
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
Her nightmares were vivid and terrifying, but she'd come to expect the monsters to come out when she slept. It was when they crept into the insomnia of her waking days that she took cover. The heavy thud of a load lifter was all it took for her to dive behind a desk. Children pressing in the concourse to sell flowers or tchotchkes with imagined grenades hidden behind. Unreality bent the edges of her reality inward on itself, like a photograph buckling and blistering in a fire the moment before it went up.
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
The air in this place was cool and clean. It felt fake. It's fakeness took away all the reassurance of security from her. It robbed her of happily ever after, and the more she looked, the more she doubted in the good ending that all writers look for. She was stuck on that singular bloody page that refused to turn. Forever and always still in that place.
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
The chrono read four in the morning, and she roused with a sharp intake of breath. The lights were still on in her quarters. The mattress of her bed was stuffed along the far wall so that she could sleep in a sitting position, keeping her carbine in a three point sling cinched flush to her shoulder. The bed frame and box spring were thrown lengthwise against the door.
It was a defensible position. And not a sound came out save the sound of her breathing. There was always danger in silence. The universe held its breath in anticipation. Potential energy stored in a bunched spring and a drawn hammer. You learned to listen for what you couldn't hear.
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
Creatine, protein, and rip shots were downed all in the same glass, which she threw into the sink of her small refresher. The sonics hummed as she stepped past the curtain, letting the grime and the aches of insufficient uncomfortable sleep ripple away. Her fingers found her razor on the shower ledge. The other hand pumped sublimating lather into waiting fingers, which she massaged along her temples and the back of her head. The blade policed the perimeter of her head, singing quietly as she glided against the grain while she felt with her fingertips. None of it required thinking. She was far away from here.
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
A few keystrokes at the wall terminal brought up the HoloNet interface, and she called up the sector obituaries. There was a two second delay. Long enough for the gravity to fall out of her stomach as she waited, expecting the worst. If you expected the worst, you were never disappointed. A few more seconds to refine her search. A few more seconds to see faces she recognized in her head, wondering if she'd see them in the list. Name. Age. Survived by. Distinguished service to the Pride. Veteran. Were they alone when it happened? Scared and alone and looking for the next handful of rope only to find the frayed edge?
The fighting was over. But nothing was over. Not until your name showed up.
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin'
Five kilometers a day at a minimum. A marine went dull if they weren't dragged along the whetstone on a regular basis. Her boots clapped the deck as she kept her pace. Her sweat baptized her. The thump of her blood in her ears kept her in cadence. The few people on the concourse at this hour gave her a wide berth. Still a hundred faces and a dozen races. A rainbow of expressions. The ones who met her eyes and the ones who avoided them alike merited a survivor's suspicion. Every one of them with the potential of a saint or a killer. A parade of unknowns that stoked a buried coal fire of hidden hatreds and resentments.
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin'
In her scant idle time, she was alone with a pad and a stylus. A lifetime ago, she'd been a writer. She'd thirsted and hungered for the fruit of deepest shared experience. It wasn't enough to write it. She had to live the thing. Taste it. Hold it in her hand. Stare at the thing and not blink or look away if it stared back. She had no audience. No readership. Writing never became her career, but the base yearning to snatch parts of the universe and put them to text stayed with her. But she hadn't expected what she'd find wouldn't make sense, even to an audience of one. Now, she wrote until her hand ached with cramps. In the end, she deleted almost all of it. The futility of her recent attempts curdled dread in her stomach. Was there anything in her to say? If so, how did she tell the story?
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
Holidays came and went. Remembered birthdays came and went. The social rituals were all there and waiting, but she was alone. It was a loneliness that smothered her, pushed down on her chest until her breath squeezed out. Some of the bridges, she'd burned one way or another. Some of the bridges were blown to bits before she could take a step across. Her parents who disowned her. The true love she'd found. Gone.
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
Her nightmares were vivid and terrifying, but she'd come to expect the monsters to come out when she slept. It was when they crept into the insomnia of her waking days that she took cover. The heavy thud of a load lifter was all it took for her to dive behind a desk. Children pressing in the concourse to sell flowers or tchotchkes with imagined grenades hidden behind. Unreality bent the edges of her reality inward on itself, like a photograph buckling and blistering in a fire the moment before it went up.
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
The air in this place was cool and clean. It felt fake. It's fakeness took away all the reassurance of security from her. It robbed her of happily ever after, and the more she looked, the more she doubted in the good ending that all writers look for. She was stuck on that singular bloody page that refused to turn. Forever and always still in that place.
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall