Inside, she's a kicked dog. An animal that won't quit. She's the little girl standing in the middle of the isle, surrounded by grown men and women in their fancy uniforms with their fancy badges catching artificial lamp-light. She's the basket for which they toss their sorries and sympathies. She's the shape that meanders by the food table, never crying because what use would that be?
She is a dance on sprained ankle. Perfection in the face of impossibility.
Perfection is easy once you close yourself off to the possibility of anything lesser.
Inside, she is—
Breathe. Get ahold of yourself.
A form, smaller than the last, takes up Carolina’s periphery. It trots between trees and climbs on an old stump. Carefree in its movement. She packs her muzzle full of gunpowder and metal and levels it in the shape’s direction. Without hesitating, for hesitating makes good soldiers into dead weight, she fires—
It’s gone.
She tries again, a fool's errand spoken hoarsely; "What are you?"
no subject
Inside?
Inside, she's a powder keg.
Inside, she's a kicked dog. An animal that won't quit. She's the little girl standing in the middle of the isle, surrounded by grown men and women in their fancy uniforms with their fancy badges catching artificial lamp-light. She's the basket for which they toss their sorries and sympathies. She's the shape that meanders by the food table, never crying because what use would that be?
She is a dance on sprained ankle. Perfection in the face of impossibility.
Perfection is easy once you close yourself off to the possibility of anything lesser.
Inside, she is—
Breathe. Get ahold of yourself.
A form, smaller than the last, takes up Carolina’s periphery. It trots between trees and climbs on an old stump. Carefree in its movement. She packs her muzzle full of gunpowder and metal and levels it in the shape’s direction. Without hesitating, for hesitating makes good soldiers into dead weight, she fires—
It’s gone.
She tries again, a fool's errand spoken hoarsely; "What are you?"