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31_days2012-07-21 08:26 pm
noir-au-blanc.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-07-21 08:26 pm
21 - Original - One Step Back
Title: One Step Back.
Day/Theme: July 21 – “No one told you when to run / You missed the starting gun”
Series: Original
Rating: PG
Summary: The Missing Chapter.
Here she, walked no ran in the waking hours not knowing and sometimes knowing far to well, what it would take to fall with consequence, every little step and movement from the sway of the hips to the breasts that rise and fall, it clung to her skin, hanging heavily muffling sound and choking voice.
Her skin itched, and the bones cracked as though trying to escape the flesh and muscle, wanting some release from their bonds, and her breath crackled and whispered harshly in the still air, and her hands, they had the vaguest lingering of smoke and cookies and cream embedded in their pores.
In the distance she heard the trains which ran day and night, no more a clatter of wheels than the click and whistle of the steam rushing upwards squealing discontentedly, no more than the unsightly roughness of her mouth and tongue rubbing alongside her teeth, lazily testing the texture.
Still she couldn’t find the doorways out, she thought she had once.
But that was a mistake, a sleight of hand and trick of the eye.
Closing her eyes, she fell into the slumber again.
Day/Theme: July 21 – “No one told you when to run / You missed the starting gun”
Series: Original
Rating: PG
Summary: The Missing Chapter.
Here she, walked no ran in the waking hours not knowing and sometimes knowing far to well, what it would take to fall with consequence, every little step and movement from the sway of the hips to the breasts that rise and fall, it clung to her skin, hanging heavily muffling sound and choking voice.
Her skin itched, and the bones cracked as though trying to escape the flesh and muscle, wanting some release from their bonds, and her breath crackled and whispered harshly in the still air, and her hands, they had the vaguest lingering of smoke and cookies and cream embedded in their pores.
In the distance she heard the trains which ran day and night, no more a clatter of wheels than the click and whistle of the steam rushing upwards squealing discontentedly, no more than the unsightly roughness of her mouth and tongue rubbing alongside her teeth, lazily testing the texture.
Still she couldn’t find the doorways out, she thought she had once.
But that was a mistake, a sleight of hand and trick of the eye.
Closing her eyes, she fell into the slumber again.