#in:analysis

         An incoherent wail escaped her mouth as she wiggles her shoulders, wiping them feverishly. Sora wasn’t that sacred of insects but she wasn’t a big fan of them either, “Is it gone? Tell me it’s gone!”

shimmying and frantically brushing at her clothing, the startled female proves to be quite a spectacle. the movements are laughable, but secondhand embarrassment tags along for the ride. when the culprit of shock is brushed away, miyoung has to avert her gaze once it falls only to cling to the forearm. “uh.” she is unsure if the best option is to inform the other that the spider is, in fact, still leisurely trekking its way along her clothing. with the insect’s long, thin legs practically sprawling everywhere, it is odd that the woman does not immediately catch sight of it. watching the legged splotch slowly inch upwards, closer and closer to its previous position, she settles on a more indirect approach: “well, it... uh. it definitely has gone to a different location.” perhaps her snickering is inappropriate.

with her eyesight restricted to the rapid blinking of her phone’s screen as several incoming messages appear, she is unable to prevent collision with a passing stranger. to her, it is a barely noticeable nudge, hardly creating a pause in her brisk stride. “sor—” miyoung mumbles, halfway through voicing a quick and polite apology, though uncaring of whether the distance is growing too quickly to be audible. the agitated attitude she receives in response severs her remorse short. the tone, the demand makes her freeze, taken aback. she whirls around, expression incredulous. “are you fucking kidding me?” joke or not, it is not amusing. “the question is whether or not you are blind. am i invisible? i’m not the only one with eyes. i barely even touched you. get over yourself. i’m not in the mood and you’re two words away from being punched in the privates, you insecure little brat. watch your attitude.”

“Eh!? How come?” Her head tilted with her question. “I cry a lot. Probably too much… B-But, crying has helped me before!” Hani exclaimed, nodding frantically. And it truly did help. It saved her life, on more than one occasion, though she could never tell just anybody that. “I think crying can be a good thing.”

the responding inquiry does not surprise her in the least. does not spark any true intrigue for debate. it is standard for people to wonder and question the actions of others. more so when it challenges their own beliefs. why don’t you do this? why don’t you do that? human nature, she believes, is to be curious about the unexplained. to offer circumstances under which the avoided becomes beneficial. really, she must admit, the enthusiasm with which the other speaks is almost compelling. almost.

blank in the face, though the unwavering gaze produced by her brown eyes reveal all, her shoulders rise in nonchalant answer. “the vulnerability that accompanies the act of crying is ....” mentally grasping for the right words to properly elaborate, she trails off with an inaudible sigh. her head tilts back, lazily rolls to the left, before she gives up and states, deadpan, “unwanted. i see very little reason to cry over the same thing twice. and there is very little that reduces me to crying even once. in the end, it doesn't do much except make you weak and helpless during that moment. to each their own, i suppose. you turned out pretty well. makes me consider working a routine cry into my daily agenda.”

“What do you mean?” She asked with wide eyes.

her previous inquiry, no more than five measly words, is thought to be straightforward enough to understand; a question meant to prompt answer without the trouble of thinking and perplexity. alas, she has a tendecy to overestimate others, even when giving the most simple of tasks. this is yet another shove towards exasperation. “i meant that you're very easy to read.” that, brief and uncomplicated, is intended to be all that is said until, as an afterthought, she mutters, "not that there seems to be much to you in the first place."

@icexprince

harsh and frigid, the night’s breeze washes over her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps along her exposed arms. she tilts her head back, gazes up at the waning moon high in the sky, ponders what it would be like to live there, to escape the horrors of earth and simply be elsewhere. away from the agony, the suffering, the torment.

the trouble. miyoung snickers at the mere thought of the word, unconsciously squeezing her fingers tightly around the cellular device she holds in her hand. it brings a soft smile to her face, straining against the taut, bruised skin of her cheeks, eyelids, lips. carding an unsteady hand through her messy hair, she trails the touch, gentle and slow, from tangled jet-black strands to the tender purpling spots discoloring the fairness around her jaw. tiny shocks of pain blossom upon the contact, no matter how careful, but it does not break her grin.

the lilting tone of her friend’s worried badgering fills her head, produced by an imagination set ablaze by subtle guilt. she is able to effortlessly piece together the words the female would most likely use to interrogate both miyoung and her reckless decisions. so predictable. so heartwarming? considerate? exactly what she needs?

she hates thinking about it. “she’s probably already worrying that i haven’t replied yet,” mutters the female to the emptiness surrounding her. each syllable, each breath is whisked away by another whirling breeze. silence and loneliness curl around her, enveloping everything in a blanket of gloomy nothingness. she has become used to this. she hates thinking about it. two seconds and her phone is casting a glow to shine across her facial features, screen brightened and quickly filling with typed characters as miyoung’s fingers work hastily.

[ ✉ → maegan. ] stop getting all sentimental on me. i’m on my way.

another click and sent. she stands, lifting from the sidewalk, feet traveling routinely in the direction of her newly designated location. and, in all honesty, she has been wandering in the area for quite some time, back and forth listlessly, burdened with the contemplation of whether or not crashing at maegan’s place would fit into her laughable itinerary, which consists of merely surviving ninety-percent of the time. hence, there is not much distance between her chosen resting stop and her friend’s current residence. is that strange, she wonders.

although miyoung is usually one to wait, today, all her efforts seem to be linking up rather hurriedly. or, perhaps, the looseness and disorganization of her zooming thoughts breaks down her perception of time. the focus becomes arrival rather than tormenting recollections. she may be too hellbent on time because five minutes and her eyes take in familiarity.

or is it the distance? something is bothering her and she despises the act of having to ponder it. during the entire walk to maegan’s, she does not delve into thorough observation of her surroundings. a mistake, a liability when accompanied by the history of trouble that follows women who are said to be buried. she is distracted, moved forward like a pawn by customary procedure. step by step towards the studio apartment she has recently come to consider relatively similar to a home. temporary, but significant, nonetheless. “maegan!”

Her eyes widened a bit as she looked with the girl at the flowers set in a beige vase with a pink ribbon. “Oh you think so? I thought it looked nice..” She mumbled the last part mostly to herself as she jutted out her bottomed lip a bit. “What’s missing you think?”