Four Phases
Chapter 2: Summer
Disclaimer: Yea right.
Labrynth (my only reviewer) T_T: I didn't exactly research the scents. My friend has given me a whiff of jasmine and I read about the willowbark somewhere. The apple one is . . . questionable.
The theme and POV should be pretty clear in this one. Plot twist coming straight ahead!
***
White.
What is the colour of the moment? Is it this white dress that blinds me with its simplicity?
Black. Or the strangling darkness that grips this accursed place?
Door. I don't remember coming in through that door. Was there always a door?
Panic. Where? Why? White?
The bed is soft-inviting. Inviting uninvited caresses. Too soft for rest but soft enough . . . for other pleasures. The kind that light shuts its eyes to because only the wounded are worth watching.
"You are--very beautiful."
A hand cups my shoulder. Smooth fingertips brushing my skin: carelessly. The owner knows it can linger in luxurious want. But the touch is unlicensed, unbrokered--because it gives me pleasure.
Weight--warmth--the bed yields to a stranger's form beside me. Breath on my neck. Slow; even deliberate: signalling patience . . . or restrained instinct. Evaporating, leaving raw whisperings in its wake.
"But you're not a virgin."
The hand ceaselessly runs up and down my spine. Slightly callused at the tips (from a life of decadence) but sensitive to peculiarities and nuances. Chilled from holding a wineglass.
"Hmm, but I think I like that."
A bruising motion. Just over the cut on my shoulder.
White. Crumples down and dissolves into the sheets. Discarded. I refuse to look.
"Summer is better than a untested spring. It's warmer."
A nose buried in my hair. Smelling, scenting out with angry passion. A mouth: possessed by streamlined craving. Risking a lick.
Lightning leads to rain. Rain--tears--they are the same.
And I look, and wish that I had not.
Whiteblackwhitewhiteblackwhite--
"G-Gonou?"
White.
Chapter 2: Summer
Disclaimer: Yea right.
Labrynth (my only reviewer) T_T: I didn't exactly research the scents. My friend has given me a whiff of jasmine and I read about the willowbark somewhere. The apple one is . . . questionable.
The theme and POV should be pretty clear in this one. Plot twist coming straight ahead!
***
White.
What is the colour of the moment? Is it this white dress that blinds me with its simplicity?
Black. Or the strangling darkness that grips this accursed place?
Door. I don't remember coming in through that door. Was there always a door?
Panic. Where? Why? White?
The bed is soft-inviting. Inviting uninvited caresses. Too soft for rest but soft enough . . . for other pleasures. The kind that light shuts its eyes to because only the wounded are worth watching.
"You are--very beautiful."
A hand cups my shoulder. Smooth fingertips brushing my skin: carelessly. The owner knows it can linger in luxurious want. But the touch is unlicensed, unbrokered--because it gives me pleasure.
Weight--warmth--the bed yields to a stranger's form beside me. Breath on my neck. Slow; even deliberate: signalling patience . . . or restrained instinct. Evaporating, leaving raw whisperings in its wake.
"But you're not a virgin."
The hand ceaselessly runs up and down my spine. Slightly callused at the tips (from a life of decadence) but sensitive to peculiarities and nuances. Chilled from holding a wineglass.
"Hmm, but I think I like that."
A bruising motion. Just over the cut on my shoulder.
White. Crumples down and dissolves into the sheets. Discarded. I refuse to look.
"Summer is better than a untested spring. It's warmer."
A nose buried in my hair. Smelling, scenting out with angry passion. A mouth: possessed by streamlined craving. Risking a lick.
Lightning leads to rain. Rain--tears--they are the same.
And I look, and wish that I had not.
Whiteblackwhitewhiteblackwhite--
"G-Gonou?"
White.