Pulse
by Selow
Cold fingers pressed against a spot above the collarbone. Pulse Pulse Pulse. The blood throbbing and the flesh humming, in his mind a sound some futuristic machine would do but it was not his sense of hearing perceiving the sensation.
Thumbs under the jaw-line, near the ears. No, wait... slide... there. He could feel the outlines of the small vein as it pulsated sharply. More accurate than any clock because anything humans could build was nothing compared to Nature.
Hands slowly sliding down bare arms, searching. Stopping at the wrists. Even sharper here.
Thumbs again, dug into calloused palms. Faint, so faint like a forevision of future. Miss a beat, miss the transition. Future to present, life to death.
Anything Nature would build, the humans would break.
Anything the humans didn't break, she would break herself.
He hated knowing he was a creation of hers too.
Well, hell, I just wanted to write about blood vessels. Turned out kinda i-don't-know-if-there's-a-point-to-this-ish and the-other-half-sucks-ass-ish. And um... I'd place the scene somewhere around his twenties. Because it feels right.