#killtherabbits

two half-ghosts caught between Up and Down find each other, making a home in borrowed spaces. hands pulling together walls like cracked ribs as the city looks to swallow them hole. 

She bursts into the room, breath heavy from running—a force not unlike that of a great storm that carries itself from one place to the next, aching and dark, bringing more than a crack of thunder. You see, her eyes are just as dark, the sea simmering over, its depths roiling.

(You see that kid that’s always hangin’ on to Clem’s coat-tails? Looks exactly like that kid they’ve been looking for from Rutledge…

Didn’t he fucking kill his ‘ma or something? Only a fucking animal does that shit…

… watch her be the next. You’ll finally have a shot at top spot, ass hole.)

Her fists ache already—bruised and weeping—knuckles nearly showing through her skin which cracks from making itself over, too quick to scar well. In her wake, more bodies left slumped against the locker room wall, a banquet of blood, hers, theirs, she no longer knows.

“What the fuck, Theo,” words ground down in her mouth until it is no more than ash on her tongue. From her fist drips her anger, viscous red against the floor.

Upon her lips an accusation that is spoken more truth than question—an ancient, earthen thing—though neither are innocent. They are both dyed red even if now he looks the part, eyes wide, confusion rampant, “Did you think I’d never find out that you’re actually from that asylum? How could you not tell me?”

A hurt animal is liable to lash out, to bite without thinking. It reacts before the killing blow, acting only on preservation, survival.

Can you believe he brought these bunnies here to play with? I guess they followed him but also that doesn’t matter! They’re so soft and here! He’s probably my best fan… bringing those signs, cheering so loudly… I’ll see if he wants to eat after the next fight. Are we friends…? That’s what friends do right? Go to each other’s things, eat afterwards?

...

It was only a matter of time before someone came along wanting answers for recent events—answers he may or may not be so disposed to provide. The rabbit has offered sufficient payment for at least a partial truth. His mouth parts still impossibly wider, teeth bared in some private joke.

                                       ｗｅｌｌ，　ｗｅｌｌ，　ｗｅｌｌ．．．

that’s easy, isn’t it? 

the poor have to crawl through the slum’s back door...

 ... while the rich just have to find that black car parked at the silver veil hotel  —

—  a mercedes, naturally. 

obviously. 

there’s more, of course, but that’s for another Time.