#rammbles

I used to write down the weird shit I heard at school in my notes and on my snap stories and one of my faves by far is

What

The

Actual

Literal

C l i c k . C l i c k.

That’s was how they had always spoken to her, the familiar blue eyes that taught her how to slip through the cracks ;; how to feed on time itself — -devouring the minutes. Everything was always dark, developed in a deep smoke that surrounded her every endless moment beyond the flashes of time. Violet kept her eyes closed, blinded herself to everything but the memories of her mothers, Lenny and Salmon ;; to the moments with her own daughter. The brief flash of her own fragile life before she was dragged along to this D A R K place.

“Mommy?” The woman would sometimes whimper out, as if she still clutched the drawing she had made for her. Each moment, every single sensation of that life felt real to her. A comfort ;; knowing her mother had treasured them just the same.

C l i c k. C l i c k.

Oh no, someone was fiddling with time. The clicking like giggles of those foggy eyed cats echoed the empty space. Violet followed behind the echoing sound, peeking into the time line. She could see fuzzy figures ahead in the cracks, naughty time meddlers.

C l i c k. C l i c k.

(Small Moments #6)

Turn around. The words are caught in his throat as Victor watches the back of the other skater leaving, shoulders hunched forward, crest fallen. He studies the other mans back as he watches him go. Turn around, he thinks. Not entirely sure why, but he needs to see his face again. Maybe he was wrong, maybe the hopelessness in the other’s eyes wasn’t the echo of a match set for the loneliness he felt. 

Turn around. He sees the other in a corner. His coach patting him on the back. He doesn’t look at anyone, just the floor. Victor’s eyes are forced back to the conversation he’s having with his coach and a sponsor. He wished he could stand in the corner too, to get away, to take off the mask he can’t stop wearing.

Turn around. They’re dancing and lord is this man beautiful. Yuuri is his name if Victor caught it correctly, he’s not entirely sure since it was a murmur, a slur on his lips. At first he was just watching. Yuuri had made his way staggering to the floor and started dancing, slowly losing clothes. Victor was somehow dragged in to it, and, well, he hasn’t felt so alive in such a long time. He feels light, like he could fly, spread his wings and soar across the sky. But then Yuuri is off to the poles, back to him, spinning with Chris. Turn around, is all Victor can think, he wants the ray of sunshine back.

Turn around. He’s gone. Victor doesn’t know how it happened. He just caused Victor to blush in a way he never thought he could. Asking him to coach him of all things. But he’s gone. Victor didn’t even get his number.

Turn around. He can’t find him. His social media is a blank slate. So he tries to forget. He tries to erase the images of Yuuri’s smile, the sound of his laugh that still echoed in his mind, the feel of his hands and strong arms dipping Victor so low. He smiles at the memory.