Beaks
Wacky Woohoo Pizza Sadness Man
The bow moved like living fluid in her hands, string sliding back in her fingers while the sound of the creaking cord filled her ears. A faint click punctuated the chorus as the shaft of the arrow lightly tapped against the top of the grip.
Her fingers released, sending another arrow flying headlong towards the target. The sound of splitting wood filled the training yard like a clap of thunder.
No celebration. No fanfare. No acknowledgement that the deed had been so much as done to begin with. The former Captain looked at the falling splinters with no sense of self to accompany the glance.
Another arrow now filled her right hand, the cool fletching brushing against her fingertips almost playfully as Tsubaki nocked the projectile.
The creaking cord pulled back all the same, brushing against her robes ever so slightly for the most flawlessly fleet of moments.
Release.
Smashing splinters. Silent spree.
Fingers danced, moving for another arrow.
Decided against it. Waited. Idly and endlessly stirred the ether.
Fingers filled. Eyes looked to them, unsure what the body had acquired in their absence of supervision.
Knife. Not his, but like it. So many. Sharp steel tucked tightly in pockets and folds and ribbons and bows. Woman ended, knives began.
Turned over in her hands. Steel playfully darted between fingers, nibbling at the air and spare seconds of skin. Didn't cut. Didn't bleed.
Peace was elusive. Things that eluded danced with half-truths and lies.
Knife sailed sure and free, splitting arrows and sticking in the target.
Adroit hands moved without prompting, drawing and freeing more knives into the air.
Thunk. Thunk thunk thunk thunk. Empty air. Bladed tempo.
Knives. Nightmares. Both bordered beyond balanced bit. Flying free.
Endless nights. Shot. Stabbed. Drowned. Poisoned and pulled apart by pitiless persons. Never the same. Never different. Always agony. No peace in waking light. No peace in darkness. Never given couldn't be taken NEVER HERS NO MATTER.
Seal sparked. Fuse flickered and flared faintly.
Silver horizon. Bladed hail. Target tattered and torn to tremendous trappings of trash.
Edges exhausted. Empty ether under searching hands. Defenses gone. Images remained. Arms split cleanly. Ripped free by greedy hands. Open mouths waiting. Tore skin. Masticated muscle. Gnawed gristle. Laughing.
Always laughing.
Fuse fizzled. Duskdrinker drawn, painting palling of pain.
"The kingdom's army, sworn to crush the enemy..." Haughty. Harsh. Uttered guttural growl grown of grief.
"The call to arms begins as each soldier takes up a weapon to defend their honor."
Serrated scores of scoria sprung to side. Countless copies. Copious colors.
"As they march forward, eighty warriors race outward to drive back their many opponents to finish the war."
Blooming blades beckoned. Create cause.
Harsh hazel gaze. Doomed destination. Power pulsed without pretense. Trite tally within tolerance. Innumerable impotent against. Fleeting few farther fortified.
Direly dim in desperation.
"Army's Force."
Delivered. Lonely lance launched.
Inexorable impact. Shameless staggering. Known nullification. Empty field remained.
Remaining all that remained.
Sickened soldier stood, sadly sighing. Momentary mission, flighted focus. Endless screams remained still.
Tired.
Everything endless but endurance. Fading light gained footing. Heart and soul sinned and stained, malignant muddling remained maddeningly immutable.
Voices broke the still. Courtyard chattering. Chimps chasing sound to see the spectacle and unsolicited show. Smiles and sniggering at someone's sorrow.
Bracing breath. Heart held from haste to fly and flee. Eyes already upon her. Corners crept with cautious covert corneal caresses. Wild whispers.
Sickened her. Needing them sickened the soul. Vicious and fickle. Childish fleeting fairweathers. Fucking fakes.
Guileless glance generated. Artist's air. Sword saint stood strong, dealt destruction deigned not a denoted discussion.
Stoic stride, past prying prize of peeping persons.
Grounds gone, casualty of cause to consider. Steps steadfast, no staggered stance to be seen. People passed. No greetings given, none offered. None associated. Social stigma for sociopathic snake. Treated treasonous. Reviled venomous violent vixen.
Hated them. Hated needing them. Hated helplessness. Days of social solitude and subliminal screaming. Nights of bloody agony both endless and useless.
Door to dormitory waned in her wake. Sat down silently on sheets. Stared down with stoic surveillance shattering for salted sadness.
Sick. Sick of unwelcome waking. Sick of sleepless slumber. Sick of needing others. Sick of them not needing her. Sick of trying sick and tired SICK TO DEATH.
Sorrow swelled and swallowed. So sick.
No cure. No hope.
No end.
[1,058]
The knife. Beautiful. Dancing daringly in direct deposition of discretion.
Her fingers released, sending another arrow flying headlong towards the target. The sound of splitting wood filled the training yard like a clap of thunder.
Her hands answered, arcing with annoying alacrity against the answered antagonizing.
No celebration. No fanfare. No acknowledgement that the deed had been so much as done to begin with. The former Captain looked at the falling splinters with no sense of self to accompany the glance.
Moving past the blade. Clasped tightly around his arms, twisting without regard to the screams. Not just his anymore. Everyone. They all looked at her with wide eyes and open mouths.
Another arrow now filled her right hand, the cool fletching brushing against her fingertips almost playfully as Tsubaki nocked the projectile.
Knee. Her knee rising up. His elbow coming down held down and fast down down by her grip and her hands AND HER DOING.
The creaking cord pulled back all the same, brushing against her robes ever so slightly for the most flawlessly fleet of moments.
Smashed. Sinew and sterner stuff slammed sickly. Sopping scarlet.
Release.
Arms relented. Armed man no longer so. Blade clattered, bone jutted. Man's arm ruined, more than naught.
Smashing splinters. Silent spree.
Eyes. Eyes looked at her mingled and marred. Only wanted to be left alone.
Fingers danced, moving for another arrow.
No desire for recognition. Only wanted to be left alone.
Decided against it. Waited. Idly and endlessly stirred the ether.
No desire to cause trouble. Didn't choose it. Only wanted to collect the thoughts. Plug the dam, slow the stream. Only wanted to be left to it.
Fingers filled. Eyes looked to them, unsure what the body had acquired in their absence of supervision.
Went to Earth to find calm. Peace. Did peace exist for her? Only wanted a moment.
Knife. Not his, but like it. So many. Sharp steel tucked tightly in pockets and folds and ribbons and bows. Woman ended, knives began.
Had to exist. Wouldn't be denied. Deserved a moment. Needed it.
Turned over in her hands. Steel playfully darted between fingers, nibbling at the air and spare seconds of skin. Didn't cut. Didn't bleed.
Deserved peace. Deserved to have it like everyone else.
Peace was elusive. Things that eluded danced with half-truths and lies.
No peace here. No peace on Earth. Prying fingers. Judging eyes. None saw her. None saw the struggle.
Knife sailed sure and free, splitting arrows and sticking in the target.
Needed to change this. If peace couldn't be taken then fear would suffice.
No. You will not play the tyrant.
Adroit hands moved without prompting, drawing and freeing more knives into the air.
No choice. They do not respect me.
Thunk. Thunk thunk thunk thunk. Empty air. Bladed tempo.
Nor do we respect them. You cannot ask that of others yet.
Knives. Nightmares. Both bordered beyond balanced bit. Flying free.
Past failures too great for them to ignore. Respect never given. Must be taken!
It does not work that way!
Endless nights. Shot. Stabbed. Drowned. Poisoned and pulled apart by pitiless persons. Never the same. Never different. Always agony. No peace in waking light. No peace in darkness. Never given couldn't be taken NEVER HERS NO MATTER.
Seal sparked. Fuse flickered and flared faintly.
CANNOT TRUST THEM.
Silver horizon. Bladed hail. Target tattered and torn to tremendous trappings of trash.
WILL NEVER TRUST ME. GIVEN UP SO MUCH BUT NEVER TRUSTED!!
Edges exhausted. Empty ether under searching hands. Defenses gone. Images remained. Arms split cleanly. Ripped free by greedy hands. Open mouths waiting. Tore skin. Masticated muscle. Gnawed gristle. Laughing.
Always laughing.
THEN GIVE UP TRYING TO BE THEIR EQUAL!
Fuse fizzled. Duskdrinker drawn, painting palling of pain.
Ascend past this!
"The kingdom's army, sworn to crush the enemy..." Haughty. Harsh. Uttered guttural growl grown of grief.
WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH FOR THEM.
Then fuck them!
"The call to arms begins as each soldier takes up a weapon to defend their honor."
Serrated scores of scoria sprung to side. Countless copies. Copious colors.
Tried this before! Suffering never ends! Light always fades!
"As they march forward, eighty warriors race outward to drive back their many opponents to finish the war."
Blooming blades beckoned. Create cause.
So tired! So tired of them! SO TIRED OF NEEDING THEM!
Harsh hazel gaze. Doomed destination. Power pulsed without pretense. Trite tally within tolerance. Innumerable impotent against. Fleeting few farther fortified.
Direly dim in desperation.
"Army's Force."
Delivered. Lonely lance launched.
So sick of being alone.
So sick of being alone.
Inexorable impact. Shameless staggering. Known nullification. Empty field remained.
Remaining all that remained.
Sickened soldier stood, sadly sighing. Momentary mission, flighted focus. Endless screams remained still.
Tired.
Everything endless but endurance. Fading light gained footing. Heart and soul sinned and stained, malignant muddling remained maddeningly immutable.
Voices broke the still. Courtyard chattering. Chimps chasing sound to see the spectacle and unsolicited show. Smiles and sniggering at someone's sorrow.
Bracing breath. Heart held from haste to fly and flee. Eyes already upon her. Corners crept with cautious covert corneal caresses. Wild whispers.
Sickened her. Needing them sickened the soul. Vicious and fickle. Childish fleeting fairweathers. Fucking fakes.
Guileless glance generated. Artist's air. Sword saint stood strong, dealt destruction deigned not a denoted discussion.
Stoic stride, past prying prize of peeping persons.
Grounds gone, casualty of cause to consider. Steps steadfast, no staggered stance to be seen. People passed. No greetings given, none offered. None associated. Social stigma for sociopathic snake. Treated treasonous. Reviled venomous violent vixen.
Hated them. Hated needing them. Hated helplessness. Days of social solitude and subliminal screaming. Nights of bloody agony both endless and useless.
Door to dormitory waned in her wake. Sat down silently on sheets. Stared down with stoic surveillance shattering for salted sadness.
Sick. Sick of unwelcome waking. Sick of sleepless slumber. Sick of needing others. Sick of them not needing her. Sick of trying sick and tired SICK TO DEATH.
Sorrow swelled and swallowed. So sick.
No cure. No hope.
No end.
[1,058]