"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Viewing Single Post From: Goshou Resort
Cicada Days
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👀 (credit to Kotorikun)
[ *  *  *  * ]
Something or another began or ended, or whatever could be interpreted in the more apparently meaningful fashion

Smoke trailed contrails along the parallels that formed three dimensions, dimensions that folded like paper sheaves and became the air she breathed in no dimensions. In so many words pretentious Tina felt the collapsed scaffolding of her throat become the skyscrapers of the yesteryears and tomorrows she hadn't been born in time for, as they liked to say: not born in time to explore the world or universe, but born in the time to explore... the emotional throughput offered up to her like a slightly balded head of a Saint on a platter in the smoke and wine soused backroom. Emotions were hors d'oeuvres on the grubby fingers of children who'd yet to experience emotions in full, the full compliment of the words beyond their flailing and grasping reach, like-

Tina coughed.

Her head felt clear. First time in years maybe.

Fucking odd her head had been like that the last whatever years of her life. Ex-life.

So she was dead then. Okay.

Expansive facilities. Better presentation than she'd had back home. Wall-to-wall, dense, heavy on the eyes. She wasn't so inclined to engage herself. She watched some television instead, casually slouched against the rigid pillar of a couch by her elbows.

She watched herself die. She didn't particularly care.

Cough.

And so her lungs were the burlap sacks of poormen, highwaymen, the sort of persona non grata abused and accepting of abuse for lack of repose otherwise. Crushed without hand or pressure save the feather light bubbles of tar and feather and-

Tina cleared her throat with a gritty growl.

Fucking enough of that. She looked around for something else to watch or otherwise pay attention to.
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