“Why don’t you read?” She was genuinely facinated. Needing to read — the itch to fall deeply, bottomlessly, endlessly, into another world — was the same feeling as wanting to kiss somebody. “I don’t know,” he said. “I should.” She smiled, confused. Advertisements
you see tarspen elia’s eyes first. they are bright and afraid.
the wind whips red dust into your face. you brush it away restlessly. your cheeks are hot; the air is sticky. you can feel your heart pumping through your skin.
only her forehead and the tip of her nose is above the lip of the cliff at first. and her hands: bloodless knuckles, and fingers gripping deep and desperate into the warm dirt like claws. you peer over her and down, at her body suspended above a drop a few metres less than a hundred. she looks up and her gaze meet yours.
she sinks into the river, letting the water lick lick over her. icy tongues of current run along her skin. she rests her face on the surface, eyes closed, lips and nose submerged. then she realises she is not breathing so she allows her body to float and return to the blinding world.