Other pytchblend
pytchblend - lOne (αφελώς)

lOne is part of my etherCore series. Please leave a comment.

Taken from the Doxa album: pytchblend.bandcamp.com/album/...ethercore-vol-1

His hand was hard and dry, and with a sort of innocent enthusiasm, her red mouth stretched. Jolly well.
The handle of his sheath knife. Whacked, doped.
With a mouthful of saliva, he put down his coffee. Drunk; shouting and cursing. A long experience.
‘Someone will make trouble; I would have made trouble.’
Was it time to change the subject?
Being unhappy, the warmth of being right.
Wide.
She switched on the phone, shook her head.

It might as well been a different planet, walking towards the gate, she frowned. Was she hungry? ‘Perhaps we should go.’ The telephone rang.
She drank and began to cry; dangerous.
On the door, poisoned even, the hiss of an individual breath, miles away. A dangerous business; he stopped breathing. List the tasks.
Sitting by the window, you love him.

A shadow on your face.
‘You should go.’
His voice was soft, tentative, (well brought up), and this British girl with her honourable scars; her face might have softened, but that was off-limits, it was quiet, horribly quiet. Caught his eye.
‘Careful with yourself.’

He doubled up. Her skirt was splashed with fresh blood, the air was dirty.
‘Be careful, take your shoes off. Truth or self-delusion, your eyes are unreadable. Wanted to see you.’
He picked up the receiver, the wooden face; it was too dangerous. Big shining, a cloth black face, and the black grease, the black grease and the yellow ochre, he passed out. And the telephone rang.

His face turned slack with horror. He felt the pressure.
Despite her protest, the telephone twittered in his pocket and the yellow glare.
His feet seemed to vanish.

‘Turn the radio off, get out of the way.’
It was the beginnings of confidence, and swiftly down the stairs, realising with a shrinking heart that he'd forgotten about the telephone, the salty wind, the incoherent mass and inside came the odd moaning. A huge grey wave of a spidery black figure lost it tremor and went completely quiet. And leaning against the windows for support he could feel the warmth of her beside him.

We're trying not to drown in the ugly noises. And the luminous noise, the huge numbing pain he tried to shout.
‘Please! Nothing to do with blood.’
‘It could be good to have somebody waiting for you.’
She scrutinized his face.
‘Where were you?’

One drop of blood.
There was a short silence. Facing an uphill struggle, questions about his decision, it was too deeply instilled. I stepped forwards, I pulled together the stands, still half hoping. I had a fleeting memory of a long time ago, a sound of footsteps in the hall, and I glanced from on to the other...