#folkinghell

@folkinghell —— KATE DENSON / MIXED TAPE 001.

       you don’t grow your horns overnight.       ( nature vs. nurture. what happened to make you this way? were you born this way? you’re not normal, joe, you’re not normal, and if anyone ever knew, if anyone could see the things you’ve done, what would they say? if they could feel how you felt when you did it, what would they say? if they could understand, for just a moment, how GOOD it feels, would that change what they’d say? )

       HE LAUGHS. “hey, you’re good,” he says, pointing his knife in her direction in a lazy pointing gesture. “really, you ain’t bad. tell me, how do you think you get your horns? if it’s not something that changes you, if there’s not one defining moment, then what is it?” he never gets bored here, but he doesn’t complain when someone decides to spice things up with a bit of conversation.

[ ♛ ] —- - Where most bent and broke, David was not one to fold. Danger and violence were not foreign to him. He’d grown up along side it, like a vine crawling up a fence. It was as familiar to him as the sun’s rays touching the earth. He didn’t revel in the violence, but he did know it. Enough to drown out the horrific acts like background noise. 

However, he wasn’t unaware of the fact that others weren’t quite the same. Not all possessed a tolerance for agony like he did. It was a learned art, successfully filtering through brutality and suffering. 

Most notable above all else, though, was Kate. It was clear that brushing with Death was not a scenario she had come face to face with before. He saw it in her eyes, when she ran, and when the entity chipped away at her. Yet, despite this fact, she was ever hopeful. A light in this dark realm. A beautiful songbird spreading joy to anyone who heard her.

Not today. 

Perhaps something had broken her this trial. David wished he could be surprised, but shock was nowhere to be found on his face. Everyone had their limits. Even he did. It was a sad sight to see the one light in the entity’s realm go dim, but it didn’t faze him. If anything, it made him more determined.

He reached toward her, palm outstretched; an invitation to keep pushing forward.

palms wet with sweat, gliding off the body of a flashlight which drops to the ground with a hollow  thud.  the sound of his own heartbeat pumping hot in his ears like he’s running on a bad trip in the middle of a high end acid party in l.a., frantic  to cross the sea of tripping dancers to reach safe haven at the bar.  the tightness in his chest from a recent sprint, dried-up mud underneath his fingernails, impossible to get off.  he knows panic when he feels it.  has known it since he’d first been caught cheating at cards in the rundown bar his daddy used to visit, knows it by the chill that creeps up his spine at the sight of a street-sign yellow apron visible from behind the splintered wood of a barnyard shack.  knows it by the breath that catches in his throat as he throws the locker’s door shut, just in time to disappear from his pursuer’s sight and just in time to lock with blue eyes, hidden behind the grid of a locker opposite the room.  maybe, just maybe, the behemoth would simply pass, not bother to waste his time in search of what had alerted him.  and if he didn’t –  it was a game of chance with luck in his favour.  c’est la vie, stranger.