10-30-2020, 04:31 PM
The storm rages above the trees, whipping up branches and leaves wherever the spotted girl passes. She runs like the wind, making for a cave as fast as she can. Her legs are no longer lanky, but the two year old still trips because she is in such a hurry. With storms like these, lightning may come, and the fear of that happenstance is so great she doesn’t pay attention to where she places her hooves, but whether or not she hears a thunder already.
Fear has ever ruled her life, a morbid curiosity the only other feeling she has truly experienced. There are voices, too - she never understood what they were saying, not when she was younger, but when they were absent, she already knew that they would come back. She expected them to, and perhaps that’s why they did come - she never wondered.
Llorona lives in the moment, and in the moment, she is on the run.
She doesn’t quite make it. Lightning flashes and she jumps left and right, the electricity hitting her and the ground where she dances. It must look strange to an outsider, and one might not be certain about what’s going on. Does she not dance with the lightning? Did she not conjure it herself?
Her eyes roll in her head as she makes her way through, leaving behind a clear path of burned and fallen tree branches.
Dance with us, Llorona. She shrieks, she runs. Whatever she says, they won’t leave her alone. Mother won’t save you. This, she knows is true. Come to us, dance with us, let it hit! Just a nibble? Oh, it burns and it bites when it hits. Bite, bite, dance, dance. She’s so tired. Tomorrow we bite.
Fear has ever ruled her life, a morbid curiosity the only other feeling she has truly experienced. There are voices, too - she never understood what they were saying, not when she was younger, but when they were absent, she already knew that they would come back. She expected them to, and perhaps that’s why they did come - she never wondered.
Llorona lives in the moment, and in the moment, she is on the run.
She doesn’t quite make it. Lightning flashes and she jumps left and right, the electricity hitting her and the ground where she dances. It must look strange to an outsider, and one might not be certain about what’s going on. Does she not dance with the lightning? Did she not conjure it herself?
Her eyes roll in her head as she makes her way through, leaving behind a clear path of burned and fallen tree branches.
Dance with us, Llorona. She shrieks, she runs. Whatever she says, they won’t leave her alone. Mother won’t save you. This, she knows is true. Come to us, dance with us, let it hit! Just a nibble? Oh, it burns and it bites when it hits. Bite, bite, dance, dance. She’s so tired. Tomorrow we bite.