rise, lasarus !

as swiftly as he had rebuilt his defences in the face of an apparent assault, vann abruptly pauses in his labours and simply stares, tension releasing its hold on his features. i'm sorry. only too late does he realize that he's erred in his perception, in the preparations that have become a trained response. vann expected to be gutted again, now not with humanoid claws but a dragon's talons. a dragon. it all makes far too much sense now, and yet it throws him for a loop anyway. disarmed not for the first time, vann stares wordlessly as sol retreats, stops when she nearly kicks over her boots, and then sits to don them again. he sees her in a different light now. understanding colours his vision and though it has taken many weeks and an equal number of trials to get here, for an instant vann can't help but feel relief. the fruit of incessant, painstaking and stubborn labour at last presents itself for the picking.

sol's gaze tracks vann's approach though her face remains trained on the lake. with no small amount of displeasure, she notes the strain that puts on her eyes, tension headache blooming. brow furrowing, she casts her gaze ahead, nails digging crescents into the back of her hands.

Sister Hina Alvi peels off her gloves and throws them in a bin. Alice Bhati mops the blood on the floor, collects yards of bandages and heaps of absorbent cotton, and while doing it, glances at Hina Alvi and realises that she is crying. Silently. She is scrubbing her hands at the sink, but Alice is sure that she is crying. There are no tears, no sound comes out of her mouth, but Alice can see that her face is broken, as if someone has clumsily rearranged her features. Her upper body shakes and her silent sobs echo in the delivery room. Hina Alvi covers her head and part of her face with her dupatta, as if getting ready to offer her prayers, and then abruptly leaves the room without giving Alice any instructions. She stands next to the sink, lukewarm water washing over her hands, her eyes dry. She feels cold. She dries her hands with the hem of her coat and goes and stands beside the bed, staring alternately at the sleeping mother and the dead baby. Without thinking, she kneels down and takes the baby's hand into her hands. She opens the bluish fist and finds that the palm is smooth, with no a line, not a wrinkle. She holds the baby's palm in both her hands and starts to pray. She prays like she has never prayed before, like nobody has prayed before. It doesn't matter if there is a God listening or not, it doesn't matter if He is busy somewhere else trying to avert a war or working out the chemical make-up of a deadly new virus. She just conjures up her Lord Yassoo and gives it to Him. She holds Him by His throat till He can't breathe, she hangs from His robe till He can't take a step forward, she grabs His goblet of wine and flings it across the room, she heckles Him when he descends from the Mount of Olives and starts to give His sermon, she snatches the fish from His disciples and throws it back into Galilee. She sings Him lullabies when His mother goes outside the stable to look for firewood, but that doesn't last very long. When He washes His disciples' feet, she accuses him of being a deadbeat Lord leaving poor wretched girls to bring dead babies into this world; she actually starts cursing him in Punjabi when He starts to raise Lazarus. What she is doing is probably the opposite of a prayer. In the heat of her demented devotion, she even forgets to ask Him for anything. Exhausted, she puts her head on the baby's stomach and listens to Lord Yassoo's eternal silence, feels his glacial incompetence. She hears no flapping of wings, no thunder, no lightning, no chorus of hymns rising in the background. She hears a door creak behind her and she opens her teary eyes slowly. Before she can turn around, she sees a little blood bubble pop out of the dead baby's left nostril, then the toes on his right foot start twitching, as if he is trying to walk in his death sleep.

stop believing in love + sex thx

peak literature honestly. im in love. (read: the Gordon's London dry gin + malibu rum from karaoke + vodka from pre-karaoke flowing thru my veins)

Help. help lah

double photos for small post but like. holy shit. y'all don't know how big a whale shark is this is insane. like i dont expect hetslop to know sizing details BUT STILL!?? INSANE!!!!!!!!

peak literature honestly. im in love. (read: the Gordon's London dry gin + malibu rum from karaoke + vodka from pre-karaoke flowing thru my veins)

Help. help lah

peak literature honestly. im in love. (read: the Gordon's London dry gin + malibu rum from karaoke + vodka from pre-karaoke flowing thru my veins)

peak literature honestly. im in love. (read: the Gordon's London dry gin + malibu rum from karaoke + vodka from pre-karaoke flowing thru my veins)