006. Soft
Their voices were so hard now. They'd never exactly been kind, but they'd never filled the room with such tension and his head with such lies.
"He's okay…he's okay…"
"Good old Cyrus. Smart old Cyrus."
The prison bars were a gritty fish bowl. Gritty faces. Gritty sun. Saturn had no use for days. The girls' shattered centers poked and sliced at him too harshly then. He preferred the nights spent sleeping on the red and purple hay of their hair. He'd lie in the middle between them while the night revolved steady as a clock hand. Stringent. Steady. Stiff.
Soft…