Madame Fox cries tears of black tar.
She is the heartbreak that is the last thing ex-lovers share. She is the dead rose, caught in the middle.
She could surrender to this and be torn apart – a conjoined heart still beating as it is ripped asunder, geysering lifeblood in faltering plumes – or she can change, shift and escape: grow fleet, grow feral.
They call her name, make bets on who she will come to, but she is wild now, and besides, they are calling her old name, her human name.
Her tears turn to white whispers. Petals in a snowstorm.
(Originally written for Lily Childs' Friday Prediction)
Somewhere between standard fare for legends and superheroes, and abstract expressionistic prose. Neat work, John X.
ReplyDeleteThank you, John W. =D
ReplyDeleteReally like this. This set of 101 words succeeds (as few sets of 101 words do, I'd think) at giving the impression that there's a setting at work around and above the events at hand.
ReplyDeletePotent imagery. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks, Z and Zaiure. =)
ReplyDeleteWith so few words, you have to make them work harder, poor things. ;)
(also loving the weird duality in the comments so far... Johns W&X and Z & Zaiure. I wonder if I could only get people to comment if they find someone with a similar name to comment with at the same time... ;) )
Dark and visceral, poetically so.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Steve. =)
ReplyDelete