Ink And Echoes

• BUT I LOVED MY FATHER - THREE •

III

❁ T H R E E ❁

• • •

° Ruelle °

Had Fluerie really traded Elijah for bullets? Laney had the answer. Her eyes were like the bookshelf that Elijah hated the most and wherever her fingers touched, that place would drip with a yellow and scintillating liquid. My daughter didn't see that. For ones, I saw the urge of burning down this house in Fluerie's eyes. She looked like a violet bruise and Laney, yellow as honey.

I'm clumsy at words, because I can't see them like Elijah. He was standing behind Laney, his chest still bleeding. He was cradling Laney, caressing her skin dripping of milk or was that her mother's blood? In this room, I was the only one of cobalt blue but Laney claimed me black. The paperwork, as she had said looked like the letters that she would write to my Fluerie. The ink that she used was still reminiscing of her mother.

Laney was forging a bridge between her and Fluerie; a bridge of poems that Laney's mother wrote. Those poems were unwritten, laying eggs of spiders and I knew Laney wanted to steal the fire of this house to burn off the stains on her mother's poem. But she couldn't. A girl of milk and honey would require a cigarette's smoke and dead eyes. Her head was flooded with an ocean; broken swords and Fluerie.

Elijah was plucking out his bullets and was making a constellation around Laney, an armour. My house was full of honey, a placid and languid yellow that I wanted to dive into into and save my daughter from drowning. I saw the roots of Elijah's pens grow on Laney's bones as she talked to my daughter. I saw the water in the glass that I had served Laney with was turning into a cancer, dessicated with my daughter's eerie happiness.

‘A mirror.’ My daughters eyes said me and for ones I thought maybe honey was better than smoke. Elijah took the scissor from my hand and cut off all the curtains in my house. I closed my eyes as he kissed me and I could hear a thunder in this library. He was still the answer for me. I tasted honey and not his blood this time. I saw the disease drift off my house and form a blanket around Fluerie. But what about the cancer that this honey was going to leave? What about the cameras that were never going to flash?

Laney unfolded, bringing out her own bullets and pushing them Elijah's and Fluerie's throat. They both had bled golden, a colour I always feared. Fluerie asked about Laney's mother's poems but Laney too, asked about Elijah's poems. A tear slipped down my face and I picked up the scissor fallen on the floor, now a river of honey. But, Fluerie stopped me, pressing a plate full of pastries against my heart.

“Mother, will you write poems for me?”

But Fluerie, what about papa?

“Ruelle, will you write the paperwork for me?”

I could feel Laney place the white gun dripping of my imagination beside my head.

But no one else saw that, because they thought I was hallucinating.

•°•

Yes, that image is owned by me.
*Sinister proud laugh*
Also, the text in the image is from
Hurts like hell by Madison beer.