What, she asked, is mad? I know you can crumble under it, but you can also float on it, I think. Am I mad? My heart hurts.
you are mad. said the crocodile. you are mad. his lips whispered. you are mad. he hissed at the bell on her throat. you are mad,
and he crumbled, like breadcrumbs, and she looked away. everyone she knew did that. they crumbled like her breakfast. it was weird, and unsettling, somehow. she always saw the colour slowly leave their cheeks...actually, most of them didn’t have colour in their cheeks anyways. she wasn’t really sure where the crocodile’s cheeks were.
she placed his head on her lap, and stroked his face. he appeared to be dozing. his head was heavy. she moved it gently onto the sticky ocean floor, and rattled her chains. they didn’t loosen, and her wrists felt sore. she asked him to wake up. there was no sound, only bubbles. she frowned, frustrated. there was a drooping feeling in her chest, and she felt strangely out of breath. wait, what was breath?
she closed her eyes then, not because she felt happy, or tired, or even because she wanted to, but because she had to. there was a sort of darkness closing in around her, and it sounded like Elijah, stroking her cheeks and kissing her forehead. he swam gaily round her, his eyes brighter than she remembered, hiw face sharper and more beautiful than her own. not that she had ever seen her own face. how did anyone look at themselves? where could they do it? she wondered if you could see yourself in the sun, if the reflection would cast back into your eyes so that you could gaze at your own appearance. hmm. she would try that one day.
familiar faces appeared all round her: there was Charlotte perched on the crocodile’s tail, her hair flying everywhere in the water; Jex with his golden mane, his red eyebrows and tired eyebags; Naryn and an ice cream cone, and her ruined flowers, and blueberry eyes; Arias, hunched, with his young eyes, and denim shirt, tucked in, unbuttoned at the top, his gray lattice scarf hanging loose around his neck and his hair swaying to the beat of a music she could not hear. it all occurred to her, in one final second, that they were all people she had never spoken to, only seen and thought beautiful. not that she had, of course, even spoken to anyone. she had, of course, written notes, signed, and read lips, but in all honesty, she wished she had a voice. it was probably hidden somewhere in her. perhaps that was why they were all here, to help her get it out, so that she could use it.
she placed his head on her lap, and stroked his face. he appeared to be dozing. his head was heavy. she moved it gently onto the sticky ocean floor, and rattled her chains. they didn’t loosen, and her wrists felt sore. she asked him to wake up. there was no sound, only bubbles. she frowned, frustrated. there was a drooping feeling in her chest, and she felt strangely out of breath. wait, what was breath?
she closed her eyes then, not because she felt happy, or tired, or even because she wanted to, but because she had to. there was a sort of darkness closing in around her, and it sounded like Elijah, stroking her cheeks and kissing her forehead. he swam gaily round her, his eyes brighter than she remembered, hiw face sharper and more beautiful than her own. not that she had ever seen her own face. how did anyone look at themselves? where could they do it? she wondered if you could see yourself in the sun, if the reflection would cast back into your eyes so that you could gaze at your own appearance. hmm. she would try that one day.
familiar faces appeared all round her: there was Charlotte perched on the crocodile’s tail, her hair flying everywhere in the water; Jex with his golden mane, his red eyebrows and tired eyebags; Naryn and an ice cream cone, and her ruined flowers, and blueberry eyes; Arias, hunched, with his young eyes, and denim shirt, tucked in, unbuttoned at the top, his gray lattice scarf hanging loose around his neck and his hair swaying to the beat of a music she could not hear. it all occurred to her, in one final second, that they were all people she had never spoken to, only seen and thought beautiful. not that she had, of course, even spoken to anyone. she had, of course, written notes, signed, and read lips, but in all honesty, she wished she had a voice. it was probably hidden somewhere in her. perhaps that was why they were all here, to help her get it out, so that she could use it.
