how the vines go limp

//

// // // //

//

//

// <![CDATA[
document.write('');
// ]]>

// <![CDATA[
/*

red is the color of dreams lost in the moonlight nothing, of the desperate songs of broken birds and the sweet screams of madness. it's the lurking color beneath the cloud - cloud of soft, so soft, hopes - she sits upon. her glorious white wings [all the colors of white] beat in the air [destroy the air] and she laughs in the way No One does.

but as she sits and as she laughs, the vines – such rusty vines – are creeping, creeping, creeping. they slither up the sides, the tips of their tendrils twitching [crying], but still she doesn’t see [the tears roll down the lovely hills] and her beautiful pale flesh is exposed [and dry up in the dam.] a single red vine ventures to brush against her ankle, and when she feels the icy-slick surface on her fevered skin, she shudders with blessed (so blessed) relief.

the vine wraps tightly about her ankle [such a tight tight grip] and she smiles at the caress. she doesn’t can’t won’t see the spreading flush of red where it bites – bites so hard. the second vine, the third, the fourth – all snake their way upon her and latch on. her legs go numb as they work their way up, past her calves and thighs, her waist and her stomach, but she only laughs so softly.

and when they reached her heart, her smile froze, as cold as the vines that wouldn’t melt away. suddenly [so suddenly] she felt them, constricting her, restricting her, and drowning her, drowning her slowly. her uncracked lips parted but no cry came out, because the rusty vines had absorbed them, and then they reached her wings, oh, precious wings.

her wings, those wings, how they fell to the ground, flaming and crumpling and dissolving into so many thousand ashes. her hands were outstretched and her eyes were crying [as the hills roll down the tears] yet she couldn’t move, just couldn’t move. the last vine comes and jerks around her throat, as she crumbles crumbles crumbles, one of her for every ash. yanking, the vines pull her down and down and down and down she falls, down and down and down and down she screamed, and down.

she lands on the ashes with a snapping and a shriek. “red is pain,” she cries. “red is agony, red is blood.” her head bends forward. “red is beauty, red is love.”

and at last she gives in [gives out gives forth gives such sweet remorse]

and the vines, oh the vines, and the vines go limp.

// // // // // // //

//