#lucjo

for every “🌹” received in my inbox i’ll post one random sentence of a random WIP i’m currently writing

Back at Cypress Creek, at the neck of the woods, when she put me through the windshield of the Archie Andrews’ jalopy-looking Citroën I’d been living out of since she caught wind of me, it was the old violence I knew and loved in a way, as one comes to love anything that remains consistent.

You batter something hard enough and long enough, things become a dull flash of colour and noise and sensation. Take that figurative and stretch it to encompass my life – one blow after the next, and your normalcy fades to the explosions and the time between them.

I landed with a wet thud on the ground right on my elbow, dislocating it (an open dislocation, I’d later discover, which is never fun but something of an unpleasant inevitability). The collision did something to my hip that seared so badly I was afraid to look at it for many hours that followed, which was a truly concerning reprise of a tune I hadn’t hummed since my late teens.

Better to stare the thing that scares you in the face, better to make yourself look at the wound, the corpse, the flesh, the bone; better to dig your own fingers in and feel it and know that still you live than to put off feeling, that is to say put off your own survival.