O tempora! O mores!

@audaciiae​   ( CAMILLA )   said,          “   five times safe.

FIVE TIMES SAFE:  (five times the receiver felt safe because of the sender)

one.

        she said, i don’t really care. she said, the fact that         you were never caught for the forgeries is really         impressive. she said, if you would let me get to know         you and not daniel, then i would be more than open         to it. so let’s reintroduce ourselves.

        shaking her hand, he almost replied:

                                                              — you can see me?

two.

         he decided to go because she said she didn’t want          to be alone and he wouldn’t be caught dead sitting          isolated in this dark house where the shadows          consumed each other and thoughts of eating a bullet          ravaged every corner. he needed something else.          he needed something less cut-throat and more          champagne-happy, even if he carried this gloom          around with him like a lost child everywhere he went.

          she was right when she said it was nothing           but a bunch of old stuck up white scholars           who liked to speak over her. he noticed the           interruption immediately and he wanted to fight fire           with fire, and burn them down. he didn’t mind           interrupting the older white gentleman who           insisted that camilla met one of his students, to           really set him on the right path, maybe tutor him           once or twice a week. he needs a good maternal           figure. the man laughed, wiped the crumbs           from his fingers on his pant leg. —or maybe you           should do your job properly instead of passing off           your gruntwork so you can go to the strip joint           on fifth. i mean, i’m sure your wife misses you,           casper said and downed the rest of his wine.                                                                  —excuse me.

          camilla found him outside, smoking. she asked           for a cigarette and sat beside him on the curb. are           you okay? —i’ve no idea. would you like to talk           about it? —no. she paused. does dr. pearson really go           to the strip club after work? he laughed wearily.           —yeah, i knew he looked familiar. a comfortable silence           followed beneath a cool drizzle of rain. casper held           his hand out to catch them. you know i got you, right?           she said. —i’m beginning to understand that this may           be something i have to accept, he said.

@audaciiae​  ( KIT )    said,          “  five times hurt.

one.

         he wakes up and it hurts. he wakes up and realizes          that he woke up when he shouldn’t have, and mildly          wonders if that was the point. the beat of the heart          rate monitor picks up tempo; the sound his life makes          is disconcerting. or even worse, he decides uncomfort-          -ably, is that kit doesn’t know he survived, and when           they find out, they will make no mistake about it.

          you can’t predict slaughterhouses. only their intentions.                    so they will have their finger on the pulse, waiting                   patiently for the bleak, pathetic little light to go out.                   and that will be that.

& it won’t be a quick ceremony. it’ll last longer than the         funeral, he expects. people don’t usually live to talk about         the way kit operates much less understand the timing of         the thing. sometimes it is quick and merciful. much of the         time, however, they ensure each hour counts. after the         knife twisted, he remembers, it felt like it took ages for him         to fall.

(does he even remember hitting the carpet? the knife unhooked and all the rot came pouring out and then things get apocryphally misshapen. he remembers the color though. all those red hues: wide strokes of alizarin crimson with a bluish undertone, and cadmium red light as it settled. this is the only way he can think about it. if he thinks of anything else, something much more monstrous begins to breathe).

two.

          he expects this. no amount of preparation could’ve           prevented their heavy boot from pounding his abdomen           in like a memory, but he is an unfinished masterpiece of           violence after all. you can’t keep painting the same area.           it won’t make a good composition. with the underpainting           completed,  the canvas will need several more layers           before he really starts to feel something.