04-11-2021, 05:25 PM
stifled the choice and the air in my lungs;
better not to breathe than to breathe a lie
As the moon shifts away from its embrace with the sun, the northernmost lake in Loess begins to steam. A family of dingos scatters from where they had been drinking, tongues burning from the sudden heat of the water. They yip in fear when the all-consuming darkness splinters in the face of sunlight. The lake begins to froth and boil when the light hits the water’s surface. Its depths abruptly change from ice-cold to burning-hot; while the rest of the world becomes an explosion of color, the lake remains just as inky-black as it has been since the sun first vanished.
In the seconds following the eruption of light, something — rather, someone — emerges from the boiling, black water. It feels much like Tiercel imagines birth must feel like as a newborn; there is deep pressure that aches in his bones along with the sensation of being pulled through a very tight entrance (or exit?). There’s a conflicting feeling as if the place he used to be is tearing at the pieces of him that remain in-between — a desperate, gnarled, bloody hand trying to drag its prisoner back into its torturous chambers.
As his navy muzzle bursts from the water, Tiercel sucks in a breath that finally feels like life. It feels like the first real breath he has taken in over a year, and his lungs fill with joy, so he exhales it into the air. With that first lungful of air, the water ceases to boil. The rest of his face follows, appearing from the dark water like a ghost from the shadows. And though his body aches and burns, Tiercel manages to swim to the shore and weakly stand in the shallows.
The sun warms the air around him, kissing his skin with a blissful heat. As the light hits the water, the dark sucks itself dry from the lake, returning to its rightful place. Tiercel’s navy legs shake, and his nostrils quiver with exhaustion he has felt for the past year. Yet her voice is still in his mind, a metronome against his hazy thoughts. I can’t leave you. I can’t leave you. I can’t leave you.
And his throat, ragged from screaming and crying and pleading and whimpering, whistles air past his mouth to speak her name.
In the seconds following the eruption of light, something — rather, someone — emerges from the boiling, black water. It feels much like Tiercel imagines birth must feel like as a newborn; there is deep pressure that aches in his bones along with the sensation of being pulled through a very tight entrance (or exit?). There’s a conflicting feeling as if the place he used to be is tearing at the pieces of him that remain in-between — a desperate, gnarled, bloody hand trying to drag its prisoner back into its torturous chambers.
As his navy muzzle bursts from the water, Tiercel sucks in a breath that finally feels like life. It feels like the first real breath he has taken in over a year, and his lungs fill with joy, so he exhales it into the air. With that first lungful of air, the water ceases to boil. The rest of his face follows, appearing from the dark water like a ghost from the shadows. And though his body aches and burns, Tiercel manages to swim to the shore and weakly stand in the shallows.
The sun warms the air around him, kissing his skin with a blissful heat. As the light hits the water, the dark sucks itself dry from the lake, returning to its rightful place. Tiercel’s navy legs shake, and his nostrils quiver with exhaustion he has felt for the past year. Yet her voice is still in his mind, a metronome against his hazy thoughts. I can’t leave you. I can’t leave you. I can’t leave you.
And his throat, ragged from screaming and crying and pleading and whimpering, whistles air past his mouth to speak her name.
tiercel.
Open to anyone <3