Your eyes were cold when they looked at me. Inside I’m sure you boiled with emotions trying to surface, but you suppressed them as you always did. Cold silver stared into green. Your visage precedes you, Ice Queen.
“We’re all already dead,” you intoned. “I have no time for mindless infants crying out for my attention.”
I admired your long curly black hair contrasting with your skin so white it was nearly blue. You are – were – striking, even in the tumult of your sorrow. There’s something to be said for the forms our varying consciousness takes in expression of ourselves and our natures.
“I hate you,” I said.
I don’t know why I said that. I don’t know if it’s true. I know we all hate each other, really. Imagine a world without a sense of cohesion, and you have my world, our world. Our lives are post apocalyptic, following idyllic joy filled nations. Nations rise and fall, our spirits do as well. We are enslaved to our universes, enslaved to primordial actions which influence us but cannot rescue us from the hopelessness of doing it all again.
In a strange way, the decay is comforting. No one can take it from us, even though they try.
I stared into the fire. Within our mismatched tribe, every element took form. How poetic, how romantic, that Ice should be in love with Fire. Her dark eyes smolder with fury unleashed, nearly garnets against the flame. I suppose all along we were wrong, too human to see that those eyes were never the blue of the sea but the red of cooling volcanic glass. Like her hair, really, both red and black.
We’re all insane in our own ways.
I turned my back.
© Brandy Owens
If you like this, check out my short story, “Lover’s Inferno”, available here on Amazon.
Stay tuned. There’s more in the works, as long as the Muses and characters cooperate! Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day or night, whenever you are.