Seven

He inhaled with a sharp wheeze,

Flames licked upon the back of his neck – he shakes his head.

He eyes began to film over and he no longer saw her.

She phased, contorted, became less than she was, had a hold of more than she did.

He used her tears as ammunition, her pauses as admissions of guilt she was unaware hung on her shoulders.

He danced her off her spinning platform and she found herself continually spinning.

Shotgun, oxygen depleted he saw her and couldn’t for all the length of his arms steady the frenzy which was pooling around her

Everything bigger than them knew what would crumble and what would not.

Yet could only watch each synapse come alive and die out, and not utter a word.

He was left with confusion brushing past him. Racing in a direction not knowing if he was running to or from.

She was left clinging to the hard concrete road – hoping that when she opened her eyes, the world would be still,

once again.

 

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