#ofpureabyss

                  deep inhale. breathe. digits are scarred with the scent of soot and ash which laps across the backs of her palms and colours them black ( red, she thinks—there’s marred blood beneath these nails. ) she thinks her hair must be matted with it by now. keep breathing. you’re alone. it’s okay. she’s kneeling—stubborn fingers quiver as they tug at the zip of the pack she laid in front of her.

and she falters. panic gnaws beneath her ribs. she heaves another breath. pauses. ( if i look back, i am lost. ) a hand’s raised to her forehead, brushes through blonde, tugs at hair and she pauses. she’ll be okay in a moment—just needs time. ( she traipsed in there alone; a raggedy breath’s torn from chapped lips. she’ll allow herself to do this for now, but the moment she’s around others, she’ll stitch herself back up. i have to be a leader. )

               ‘ i’m a pretty nice guy,’ is his answer, and he doesn’t miss a beat. lynda’s raised him thatway.  he flashes a toothy smile, leaninga long forearm against the bark of a tree. she’s cute, if nothing else. ( and he has no intention ofmistreating her—no intention of really doing anything. he’s mostly leftalone—rumours have spawned some sort of twisted fear. they think the unthinkable. they think i’m a werewolf.which—okay, yeah. it’s true. but they don’t exist in the real world. )

                 hetakes a breath. perches a cigarette between his lips and rolls it between twofingers. a part of him thinks it’s luce’s white flag: don’t tear me apart when youshift and i’ll be nice to you. something like that. but it’sunnecessary: i’m not the killer.

                                                                 ‘you want a beer? ’

u luv me don’t h8, h8er. cheese h8er.

she doesn't notice them, her eyes focused purely on the sky, because sometimes the sky is clear and it reminds her of. well. it reminds her of a life she never really lived, but every moment is as clear as glass in her memory. it's funny, honestly.