beating like a hammer
@avxia
ultimately, it’s a success and she’s going to write it down in her not-a-feelings-but-a-good-way-to-remember journal as such. sure, she had to sit with her back to the wall and clear sightlines to every exit and sure, she assessed the threat level of every thing with a heartbeat, but she did it. she drank the coffee, she talked to xia, she existed.
“is tomato a fruit?” she asks, because there’s the memory of arguing about it, buried deep. she doesn’t pull the thread but that doesn’t make her less curious, “since when?”
mindless banter, mindless saturdays.
the sun shines and the mountain air makes it colder than it really is, but temperature’s never bothered her. a side effect, maybe, or maybe she was always like this. music plays in the distance, soft and gentle. it can’t be from this decade, she thinks, everything that plays now is so aggressive and loud and metal going through a threshing machine.
she wouldn’t even have heard it if it weren’t for her fucked up hearing.
the melody takes shape in the air and she stops. her body freezes up, preparing for— what? what happens when the song plays? it’s hazy with pain and there’s the sound of screaming. she’s the one screaming, she thinks, the memory is her screaming.
the music playing, cacophonies of sound, the thin sound of leather in the air. it smells like burning rubber.
her mouth swallows down copper.
“ready to report.”















