#1p15

                          @1p15​ offered :   “ i am directionless. ”

the sky is so terribly clear,   if one were to prick at its empyrean skin then it would surely shatter into a thousand pieces  —  yes,  shatter.  shatter like thin glass,  like silver turned solid.  against that endless expanse there can be little resolution other than witless dreaming,  and even then,  dreaming can be so very tempting and the mind can be so fickle.  perhaps the sky would be preferred over the bleak,  though not entirely barren,  earth upon which she stands now.  alive,  though not alive.  lucid dreaming given form,  mirages made real through the unabbating heat which wafts through hair thinner than untouched  snow.  her voice shakes like black ice brewing beneath a grey sea.  

what stands before her is neither machine nor android,  nor human itself.  beastly but not brooding.  alive,  but not quaking beneath the unfastened seams.  appearing more ghostlike than anything truly material  ;  whiter than winter though fires are stocked at the edges.  what might this one see her as,  she wonders silently,  unprovoked.  perhaps no more than a wolf,  or fainter still,  a dream caught between moments of bloodletting and broken resolve,  a figment of whatever imagination still lingers. 

no words spill from the she wolf’s jaw,  not that they could,  but words still flow freely from her heart and maybe,  maybe that is enough.  she hopes they will reach her in time,  as tender as that hope might be.  carried by the winds,  caressed by the balmy warmth.  those words echo while the breeze entangles through a2′s boundless,  oceanless white hair.  

                                 directionless  ...  but you still stand. 

                   “   𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐋𝐋   𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄   𝐓𝐎   𝐆𝐎   𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊   𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘   .   “   he  never  wished  for  simplicity  .  he  only  ever  wanted  to  move  .  to  go  somewhere  no  matter  how   long  it  took  ,  how  feverish  it  may  be  .  there  was  something  easier  in  the  devilishly  painstaking  ,  something  familiar  and  routine  .  it  never  quite  crossed  his  mind  what  it  might  be  like  for  things  to  be  simpler  ,  softer  :  there  was  only  reality ,  only  this  ,  an  aching  he  doesn’t  see  ,  a  suffering  deep  under  the  skin  ,  toiling  and  crying  out  to  everyone  but  him  .  yet  he's  fled  too  ,  in  heart  and  mind  while  his  body  continues  to  move  .  he’s  fled  and  he’s  ran  forward  ,  lost  and  on  track  all  at  once  .  he’s  torn  apart  inside  and  out  ,  every  piece  controlled  yet  let  loosely  haywire  .  an  amalgamation  of  quiet  agonies  strung  along  methodically  right  under  his  nose  .  cloud  doesn’t  look  her  in  the  eye  .   “   it  never  works  .   “

Injury Starters. – @1p15.

   “ No. ”

        The only offering of a story the other will get is the wild appearance of Zero herself. The broken branches and leaves stuck in her half-undone mop of white hair, the dirt smeared everywhere including in the scrapes found on every exposed bit of skin. She’s lacerated, she’s disheveled– she’s pissed off and embarrassed. A combination most fearsome.