i bear no shield no sword no armor. i am only flesh & bone THE EARTH IS ROTTEN NOW.
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𝓘N HER EYES laid storm clouds unfurling which cradled the tears of tragic youths that wrung their skin of starlight, cut seams into their gentle palms to bore their milky & drizzled in the spit of comets bones to ravenous eyes; once nebulae on their breath turned into winter air and frosted plastic ribs and youth buried in dead soils with a mossy pebbles as tombstones. Now cursing the stars till their throats are raw, torn and shredded ( hear the outcry of the wronged! ), scratching the skin of their wrists to plant the seeds of vengeance, blooming! red dahlias from their finger tips to drip like dangerous nectar and sprout thorns beneath their skin.
This is how a revolution is born.
Even though such a wrath raged within Nora Davis, she never dared say too much, feel too much, the one lesson learnt from her parents' failed marriage. Never think too much, love too much, except when her two younger siblings looked to her with nuances of yellowy gentle warmth akin to the fluffy buttermilk waffles on gloomy rainy days and sweet peach tea that lingered on the inside of her mouth.
See, Nora willingly drowned in seas of sadness for she didn't know better. Most days she was surrounded by opaque blues & grays that devoured her very entity, swallowed her up like wolves to the moon stuck in the columns of their throats like little mercury toffees.
A glaze was forever cast over her eyes of quiet, unfounded despair and yet as she stared at the unforgiving light of her phone screen showcasing the eleven missed calls from Haruki Fukuda, a curtain of sudden terror fell upon them since there could only be one reason for such an occurrence.
She called Fukuda back.
The ringing of the dial tone was loud in the small apartment, as Nora slipped into the kitchen the sound threaded with the moonlight that dripped in through the window and constructed an eerie atmosphere. In the dimly lit room she looked like a shadow, melded with darkness and moon spills that glossed her brown skin. Her gaze was stuck on the clock on top of the counter, it's red warning hues read 11:40 PM, as she awaited for the girl to answer twirling a braid absent kindly between her fingers.
Fukuda began in a flurry & frantic mess, "Hello?! Nora! I've tried calling you a thousand times– w-we didn't know who else– and fuck! I just don't know what to do! I– I know what I said about the last time but–!"
"What? Fukuda, you needa calm down," She breathed a sigh, "Just tell me where you are."
By the time the shaky voice on the other end gave Nora the address, the girl had already been shoving her feet into a pair of scruffy white sneakers with a black hoodie in hand.
