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31_days2012-07-07 10:50 pm
noir-au-blanc.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-07-07 10:50 pm
7 July - Original - Racing the Moon.
Title: Racing the Moon.
Day/Theme: 7 July – "Unfettered and Alive”
Series: Original
Rating: PG
Summary: There was moments of grace and beauty between the howling.
These were the moments that spun webs of silver, gauze and sunlight split dreams, lyrics and notes of the bells a cacophony in her head. She cupped her hands over her mouth lest she let forth the scream that was slowly building in her throat, the sound that echoed down the hills and across the valley.
Thinking backwards, adding up all those moments that had led her to this particular - of wanting to run, hide so he would not find her, could not track her by foot or sleight of hand, twist her ideas back on itself, but more importantly, so she wouldn't fall under his spell anymore than she had done already.
In the darkest of nights or the earliest of dawns when the world was asleep, she let out her confessions, the wanderlust of his body under hands, and his mouth upon hers stroking every particle of oxygen, sucking it greedily into his own, her own realisation that with him she nothing but a limpet attached to the rock, but without him, nothing would ground her to this plane.
Day/Theme: 7 July – "Unfettered and Alive”
Series: Original
Rating: PG
Summary: There was moments of grace and beauty between the howling.
These were the moments that spun webs of silver, gauze and sunlight split dreams, lyrics and notes of the bells a cacophony in her head. She cupped her hands over her mouth lest she let forth the scream that was slowly building in her throat, the sound that echoed down the hills and across the valley.
Thinking backwards, adding up all those moments that had led her to this particular - of wanting to run, hide so he would not find her, could not track her by foot or sleight of hand, twist her ideas back on itself, but more importantly, so she wouldn't fall under his spell anymore than she had done already.
In the darkest of nights or the earliest of dawns when the world was asleep, she let out her confessions, the wanderlust of his body under hands, and his mouth upon hers stroking every particle of oxygen, sucking it greedily into his own, her own realisation that with him she nothing but a limpet attached to the rock, but without him, nothing would ground her to this plane.