#frryst

                   peculiar  –––  really,  it is  –––  how  TWO SHORT WORDS  can have such a strong impact.  the seconds directly after tick away,  the world agonizingly  STILL  and time  FROZEN.  after a deafening roar comes the eldritch,  quiet screams of  WHITE NOISE.   alas,  hypothesis has been proven incorrect ;  circumambient happenings carry on,  the sounds of hurried footsteps upon carpet and murmured conversations slipping in through the space between cherrywood and door to private chambers  ––––  the shock does not linger as the question does,  however.   the spare heiress is more than well aware that the world will not  CEASE  in its rotation for her or for anyone.  to some,  a memory is just as easily  FORGOTTEN  and left to rot than it is  CREATED  ( as could likely be predicted,  she is not one among said crowd,  though there do come times that she wishes it were the  OPPOSITE ).                         nonetheless,  brittle tonality of query brings interior gears to  LIFE  and sets them turning,  spurs  TRAIN  OF  THOUGHT  to begin moving once more.  reminiscing and reflecting upon  THE  PAST  is anything but painless,  whether recollections be  SOMBER  or  HALCYON  ( or if there isn't much to look back on ),  but remembrance  NEVER FAILS  to redeliver the moral of each story,  the hero's  EUCATASTROPHE  –––––  hardship may hinder,  but if fought against,  can be  CONQUERED.  if anything,  the  TALE  OF  TWO  SISTERS has proven this to be true.

OH GOSH SUPER CUTIE!!!!!!!!!!

         He’d cracked the words from between sharp white teeth          as some philosophical jest.  Take waiting in line for a coffee, f-          or example.  It’s slow-moving, and bitterness wells like fresh b-          lood over the gathered features of the QUEUE before and beh-          ind him.  Jude has all the time in the world.  Always has.  He’s          hardly BOTHERED.  Yet, now he’s intrigued by the curious gir-          l’s poignant return.  That is not to say he agrees, for HOPE is          one of the more -- beautiful things about the human heart.  Ho-          pe and drive is admirable.  Hope and drive is why mortality has          survived thus far as such a STUBBORN concept.

                          Hope is only cruel if you ALLOW it to be.

                          So don’t think you’ll escape the SINNER MAN so ea-          sily, hopeless pale wraith.  He will pay for his own BLACK, BL-          ACK coffee before he fills in the echo of your steps with his ow-          n, strides longer than usual, but still so casually LOPING.  He w-          on’t waste more breath on a hello or excuse me, but he wea-          rs a light, bemused smile.

                          “Cruelty doesn’t negate SIGNIFICANCE.  I’m pretty          fond of both time and hope.  Without them, nothing would ever c-          hange.  Elsa?  That’s a pretty name, miss.”

the child, bundled into a coat twice her size so that only her head sticks out, has wandered off again.   she doesn’t mind being alone – ben is only mean to her, anyway,     and she usually finds her way back.     the only major source of discomfort is the cold. 

curiosity, however, has beaten out the chill. the campsite ben and her father had  made  in  the snowy forest is left far behind as saoirse appro- aches colossal steps made of  what  looks  like ice. the clusters of light that tend to follow her when she’s alone have begun to wind around the ban- ister, and so she climbs.

        and climbs.

and climbs.

                                         ❛    ––––––––––––––    .  .  .   I N S P I R A T I O N.    ❜

                     after a beat of stillness  ( its contents including but not limited to the quirk of a brow,  ––                         to  just   WHOM  does  foreign  feminine  timbre  belong?  ––  the faint scratch of dulled                         graphite point on a legal pad littered with lingering grey marks that eraser  had  FAILED                         to  obliterate,   and  a  brief  glance  in  the  opposite  direction ),   comes  his  response,                         accompanied by something of a smirk.  should such  an  answer  have  met one  of  HIS                         own    queries,   'tis   likely   that   it  would  have  been  written  off  as   WITTICISM   or                          a  display  of  PRETENTIOUSNESS,  but  desperate  times do indeed call for desperate                         measures ;  perhaps a breath of fresh air will blow away the case of  WRITER'S BLOCK                         he's  found  himself  battling  for  the  past  week  or  so ––––––––  ?    BULLSHIT.   with                         exasperated   exhalation   does   the    male    turn     around    to    face    the    stranger.