Holy Shit
Chapter 1:1
In the beginning, there was Haven and there was Terra.
Terra had been through Hell.
She was wasted, and empty, with darkness from her surface to her deep, but the spirit of him seemed to hang over her, as her tears, her waters, cascaded down her round cheeks.
She had potential.
He whispered, "Turn off the lights.", and it was dark. He saw the light was good, but, you see, he knew you spent most of your life seeing, and most of what you see are simply distractions. With the lights off, you feel. He divided between his exposure to the light and the darkness, wanting to be fair. Unless, of course, in the presence of dimmer switches.
"Yes," he thought, "dimmers are sexy."
Terra's soul had yet to be born, as her life so was bleakly dismal, to express the severity of her misery and those to come would create you, the reader, horribly depressed. She felt nothing. She thought nothing. She was nothing. Nothing, until Haven sauntered his glowing self into her life and stumbled upon the sorry looking rock she was.
They stayed there entire time together, day and night, with mornings and evenings in between. And this was only the first day.
She cried, he spoke his majestic words, falling from his mouth like thin strands of uttered diamond strands, softly fluttering between her myriad of piercings, rowing their golden gondolas into her ready ear canal. He became what she wanted to be, something, at last to strive for! But sadly never to become. She knew she could never be like Haven. She had her place as Terra. He made for her something solid and concrete, however. An island to rest upon as the seas chaos inside and around her threatened to thieve her sanity. He was her cocoon, wrapped about her distorted, flagitious form to conceal her from the judgement of others and to give her hope that one day, she would too blossom into the liberated lepidopteron that she would otherwise not believe in. He was there, evening to morning, and this was only the second day.
In her, he planted ideas, ideas she had never considered or those that seemed unfit to consider. Ideas of life, of hope, that were not only fruit-baring, but those that bore seeds. And those seeds produced into a forest of abundant admiration, to be harvested at her will. The lights were off, the lights were on, and as usual, things happened in between. And this was only third day.
He was making progress in the young woman between the strips of sagging wallpaper suspending from moth-eaten motel room's tightly enclosed walls. There were two sources of luminescence, the bare, bright overhead and the shabby lamp that seemed to be an accidental antique, been out so long that it was not intentionally vintage, and the dust coating would assure anyone's suspicions. And he saw he was good. And then he thought about opening one of those seminars...those people seemed so fuckin' rich...And this was only the fourth day.
He could imagine it now, "Alter Your Lifestyle in Just One Week!"...
Feasting upon the fruits of her thoughts, the oceans she was once drowning in occupied itself with swimming fascination, multiplying its existence and spreading nerve endings throughout her body, making her alive. Her cognition soared, her promise plunged deeper. She felt as though she had been in a dormant state, and she was awakening. And this was only the fifth day.
And on the sixth day, something new was created. Something deep inside her that filled her with so much life. Something so powerful, that it would change both of their lives completely.
Actually, it was two somethings.