02-26-2018, 06:45 PM
haze like a fever
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
Wishbone had come into the world riding on the back of predatory threat. Mere minutes following her birth a lioness had attempted to prey on her. She has always lived in close contact to danger — scraping her knees doing any sort of climbing, nearly drowning trying to reach sea otters, investigating some sort of scent that makes her instincts scream “Run!” — and her birth was no different.
That doesn’t mean she’s entirely numb to the sensations of instinctual terror. Although a natural voice reaches her ears, Wishbone can only see the outstretched paws and orange face of a young predator pouncing on her from the shadowy camouflage of nearby bushes. A scream rips itself from the filly’s throat as she tries to dodge the tiger-cub, heels flying and heart pounding.
She initially startles in the opposite direction of the threat before scrambling across the stream, feeling the water soak her limbs and underbelly. Desperation claws at her throat and for an entirely sane moment, Wishbone wonders why her mother might bring her here. “It’s trying to eat meee!” She’s clumsy at the moment, dragging herself up the other side of the stream before stumbling over all sorts of vegetation and unearthed roots in her attempt to escape.
She ends up tripping over one particularly nasty root of a nearby tree, knees colliding harshly with the earth (ripping new gashes and breaking old scabs). This is it, Wishbone thinks to herself. Suddenly, with that thought, she is no longer afraid. Laying splayed out on her side, she turns her head dramatically to face her unfortunate death, sheer determination and courage shining in her amber eyes.
That doesn’t mean she’s entirely numb to the sensations of instinctual terror. Although a natural voice reaches her ears, Wishbone can only see the outstretched paws and orange face of a young predator pouncing on her from the shadowy camouflage of nearby bushes. A scream rips itself from the filly’s throat as she tries to dodge the tiger-cub, heels flying and heart pounding.
She initially startles in the opposite direction of the threat before scrambling across the stream, feeling the water soak her limbs and underbelly. Desperation claws at her throat and for an entirely sane moment, Wishbone wonders why her mother might bring her here. “It’s trying to eat meee!” She’s clumsy at the moment, dragging herself up the other side of the stream before stumbling over all sorts of vegetation and unearthed roots in her attempt to escape.
She ends up tripping over one particularly nasty root of a nearby tree, knees colliding harshly with the earth (ripping new gashes and breaking old scabs). This is it, Wishbone thinks to herself. Suddenly, with that thought, she is no longer afraid. Laying splayed out on her side, she turns her head dramatically to face her unfortunate death, sheer determination and courage shining in her amber eyes.