April 27, 2006

Violently Rainy

Posted in Story Scrapbook at 9:03 pm by Kristiina

Today, I am the rain. I am smashed against the window - clank - then roll down it; down, down, merging with the surface, then clank! against the glass again. Over and over, until this motion is all that I feel, everything I hear.

I am anticipation. That’s what rain is - its shape - my shape molds into the surface, hard landing being softened by the non-curves on the way. Fast breaks and slow motion affairs, I slide into new places, never reaching, always almost there.

The man in the white coat crossed his fingers and said that if all goes well, I’ll jump to the Moon soon. There and back, jumping all the way.

Rain doesn’t land light; it bangs down hard in a head-on collision. This is not my sky.

I roll down the glass slowly, drinking surfaces, and I cannot hold on to any of it. I can’t hold on to anything, and I am afraid.

This is just today, though. When you’re around, your skin polarises me, and I sink sharp claws into it, merging textures until they match. Or don’t match. But at the very least, they meet - they melt into each fiber, into each other, satiated until drunk of sunlight and the colours of heat.

 

April 16, 2006

Katian Silences

Posted in Story Scrapbook at 4:02 pm by Kristiina

I am an illusion with a sultry voice. Sometimes, you can catch me stealing your sushi or your 4×4, or getting drunk on your rooftop. I am everything you think I am on Sundays. I used to be friends with the gypsies but they left me alone when I ran out of booze and smokes. I first seduced a man at fourteen. I smoke like a chimney - in fact, more than this chimney here does. I haven’t quite figured out how my body works - that’s an ongoing, awkward process. I am convincing, but no more than what you’d expect. I cry without tears. I love, oh, how I love, but it’s wishful thinking, all of it. There is nothing but the rain, and that rain covers everything, the secrets, the hideouts, the nakedness. There’s a ghost in the attic that I tried to get to know, but he is too old and too comfortable rattling what is about, so I am alone in the house, making do. I cannot ever stop my heart from making crackled sounds when breaking. Shhh.

I’m down with all your unspent currency.

Crackle.