(is withering thee)
by
: airebella e. spencerfeedback
: always. his_gray_eyes@hotmail.comspoilers
: up to Commencement, 25. possibly 7A WF 83429.disclaimer
: to sorkin, wells, and crew. not me.summary
: Zoey lays with her mouth open, waiting for the breathe to come.notes
: intended for tww100 challenge #14. didn't quite turn out that way. thanks to Oro for beta skills.*
The taste of sweat and fire, something slightly copper swimming in her mouth. Zoey lays with her mouth open, waiting for the breath to come.
She pulls, awkwardly on the ropes that bind her, the thin twine that cuts into her skin, breathing the air into her lungs. A cough, the feel of dirt and shame coating her insides and she opens her eyes. But she can't see past the colors, the brown, the red, the blue and as the pain shoots up her neck, she longs for the black.
(Black, like belladonna, the darkness of his eyes when he ran his tongue down your neck- you breathe Charlie and you've always loved him.)
The voices are foreign outside, the green splashes as the adrenaline and the bile and the blood pool in the back of her throat. Pins and needles, stabbing at her spine; the pain makes her light.
She floats, breathing, and the black is a hallelujah.
fin.