Elliot Paisley
Stories (2)
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I Think Of The Birds
“Rest assured; this is no reflection of my feelings towards you.” Katherine’s words were seldom comfort in the desert. Yet, in light of the last year, I no longer minded. Or perhaps, I no longer cared. Stood naked as the day we were born, our frail frames peppered by buckshot winds, she pulled the picture of us from her heart-shaped locket and cast it into the embers at our feet. Little eruptions sparkled from the pile, and the tightness in me gave way to a deflating sensation – this, I hoped, was inner peace. For the first time, we had nothing – nothing to bargain with, survive by, no memento of our struggle. Katherine was lying to me again; the portrait was no bigger than a stamp – not resource enough to so much dull the chatter in our teeth. Another one of her catharses, her small revolutions. All we shared now was our bastard flame – part mine, part hers, but, ultimately, soon to be snuffed by the elements.
By Elliot Paisley5 years ago in Fiction
I Think Of The Birds
“Rest assured; this is no reflection of my feelings towards you.” Katherine’s words were seldom comfort in the desert. Yet, in light of the last year, I no longer minded. Or perhaps, I no longer cared. Stood naked as the day we were born, our frail frames peppered by buckshot winds. she pulled the picture of us from her heart-shaped locket and cast it into the embers at our feet. Little eruptions sparkled from the pile, and the tightness in me gave way to a deflating sensation – this, I hoped, was inner peace. For the first time, we had nothing – nothing to bargain with, survive by, no memento of our struggle. Katherine was lying to me; the portrait was no bigger than a stamp – not resource enough to so much dull the chatter in our teeth. Another one of her catharses, her small revolutions. All we shared now was our bastard flame – part mine, part hers, but, ultimately, soon to be snuffed by the elements.
By Elliot Paisley5 years ago in Fiction
