tasting the moonlight.

tasting the moonlight.

Status: In Progress

Genre: Other

Houses:

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Other

Houses:

Summary

it was said that this town became sinful without the prescence of god in his church, so sinful that for a whole month, the moon never appeared. when the church was rebuilt the start of the next month, there she was in all her opal glory, her craters defined and her shadows proud: her mother, the moon. the same moon that lay its beams upon the walls of the bedroom that she now stood in. sunflower seeds, broken apart and the internal kernel itself gone, litter themselves around the bed, upon the sunny-yellow bedsheets, and among the vanity.
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Summary

it was said that this town became sinful without the prescence of god in his church, so sinful that for a whole month, the moon never appeared. when the church was rebuilt the start of the next month, there she was in all her opal glory, her craters defined and her shadows proud: her mother, the moon. the same moon that lay its beams upon the walls of the bedroom that she now stood in. sunflower seeds, broken apart and the internal kernel itself gone, litter themselves around the bed, upon the sunny-yellow bedsheets, and among the vanity.

Chapter1 (v.1) - one.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 12, 2017

Reads: 76

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Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 12, 2017

A A A

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What happens to those who die in the desert? Do they absorb into the sand, gravesite unmarked and forever burning in the sunbeams? Where does their soul go? Do they go to Heaven?

In the bathtub, porcelain-white with barely enough space for her legs, there is no such concept of time, nor death, nor life. She just —  is. She is there to exist. The lukewarm water that surrounds her and the way her dark tendrils of hair float above her breasts just — is. It’s there to exist - the robin-blue washrag hanging limp off the side, the half-empty bottle of apple-and-cherry shampoo, all of these items in her line of sight were there to exist and to exist only. They had no job but to help her; help their owners until they were unable to anymore. How empty of a life they have! How envious they must be of her!

And so she sits out on the porch to watch the way dusk fell heavily and holy, wrapped only in her silk nightgown with hair still wet and a summer peach in her hand, an odd but certain type of pride in her heart from knowing that perhaps she existed for a reason other than to just exist. But then the emptiness is there once more, and she asks the setting sun, “how do I know this is real?”

The setting sun answers, “you don’t.”

The answer isn’t rude nor condescending, nor said to invoke anger. It’s simply an observation, and it’s an observation she can respect. It’s simply answered; as simple an answer as one you might receive when asking an ice-breaking inquiry - it was akin to asking, “what is the weather tonight?” and receiving:

“Oh, I think it’s gonna storm.”

Oh, here comes the last bits of sunlight! She loves this moment. The darkened treeline allows just enough sweet light to cast a stream upon her thighs and ankles. The color of one of the clouds, stained ruby-red, startles her, reminds her. Reminds her of that family of foxes that used to visit her childhood home, long, long ago. Sometimes, in the later days of August, she would return home from lessons to sneak to the forest and sit, surrounded by nature and nature surrounded by her. She would do nothing but sit and marble, never once touching any strand of grass, never once plucking the blackberries brimming in the thickets.

She walked, pranced, danced along creeks and rivers and ponds but never dipped her feet in. She just — was. The nature around her and the arrival of the wild just — was. But then came one evening: an evening where a fire-pelted fox came trotting down the path, glittering and confident and unafraid, never laying eyes upon her still form. And she thought to herself, ah, this is the world! I am not in it, no one is in it. This world here belongs to the blackberries, to the foxes and the rabbits, to the songbirds in the trees, to the bees. It was theirs before it was ours!


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