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• A Game Of Charades
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  Wednesday, Dec 31, 2008 1:58AM / Standard Entry / Members only
  45 comments

  She tries to act out the words.  With every movement, every word, we follow the movement of the woman.  The guests guessing her intentions.  She frustrates at the slow understanding.  He looks on and see all sides, the sides she is yearning to show.  He is the only one that see her intentions.  He responds with a smirk, a sly hint of the smile that could set her free.  She coyly rescinds from her thrown to lower ground where the fight can take place level.  Silence and the wind intertwine as he and she survey the grounds before battle. Lingering walks, slow moving gestures mixed with deep emotions flow across the wind and silence intensively creeping within the veins of he and she like a shot of pheromones injected in the aortal vein.  They move without direction, with each move a move closer to the eventually shake that will break the walls they each face.  Every step is a step closer to freedom, to be free when nothing seems to set you free.  He touches she, and the walls, brittle and trembling, surge unto a chain reaction where the joints and knuckles quiver into the inevitable.  She succumbs like a demolished building, unable to resist the rush, the tide, the flow that is building in her womb waiting for the tickle that will trigger the release of the springs from her boiling earth.  When they reach the shore, they pant and wonder whether they were still here.  The night and the shimmering sights reminds of all they have left and all they have founded.  A moment's solace from the wounds and scars attained, a moment where hope can exist again, where everything has not been tainted by all we have consumed.