Post by brodie on Feb 8, 2019 8:57:51 GMT -5
The knotted and twisted old tree sprung from the ground, ugly, stretched limbs almost swept across the dewy grass beneath it. Roots breaking up through the green and curling, reaching down the gentle slope that gave an illusion of a hill. No leaves grew on the tree, just short, spindly little sticks poking out of their place instead. Twisting and thick branches breaking away into thinner and thinner branches, the very tip of each bearing an unknown fruit. Round and shiny, but pitch black and on each piece of fruit, settles a single buzzing fly.
A hand reaches up, porcelain and smooth, the wrist delicate yet solid, disappearing beneath a red cloak; that same hand plucking the fruit from its spindly vine and bringing it down, to scarlett lips; bright and wet and shimmering, lips you know so very well by now. A flash of white teeth, plunging into the supple flesh of the fruit and with a heavy gulp, a mouthful or the dark, juicy fruit and the entire fly, swallowed down without so much as a sound.
There was an old lady who swallowed a fly.
I don’t know why she swallowed that fly,
Perhaps she’ll die.
”Mi amore…
Not a wolf. Not a rat. But a man, just a man, lost in the lines of his own story; believing he is the pursuer, is a man who is beyond the realm of being lost. You demand that we drop pretense, that I release you from this winding and never ending fantasy. But, praytell, do tell, what makes you think that your reality is the true one?
What in all of the worlds, in all of the stories and tales and whispered secrets, has given you the unfounded and yet, somehow, so very stoic belief, that what you deem to be true. Is truth and truth in of itself? I wonder, my love, my enemy, my… Prince. Who has put such dangerous thoughts in to your head that this is where the tale ends?
There are so many more chapters in our book, Mi Amore… You simply need to stop fearing what you will find, when you turn the page.”
There was an old lady who swallowed a spider.
That wriggled and jiggled and wiggled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.
But I don’t know why she swallowed that fly
Perhaps she’ll die.
As she speaks, Brodie rolls back her head; bright painted lips parting with a soft, barely audible gasp. It is the gentle line of her throat, the curve of her neck, that you notice first. The way her collarbone lifts and falls with each, tender breath. Not a moment to spare, she extends her tongue, flat and wet; as two, then four and six, to eight, legs climb their way from the dark recesses of her throat.
It sits there, as though making silk, for the longest moment atop her tongue. And you would perhaps think this were a toy, a clever trick, but as soon as the thought crosses your mind, eight legs and small hairy body, scramble from her tongue and with a single thread, is gone.
There was an old lady who swallowed a bird.
How absurd, to swallow a bird!
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider
That wriggled and jiggled and wiggled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.
But I don’t know why she swallowed that fly
Perhaps she’ll die
”Oh what a mighty web we weave…
Deception Mi Amore; has been your namesake. You have built your empire upon the powers of deception and because of this, because of your own futility in the truth, you believe those same lies to be life, that you have a Singular grasp on reality;
But what, if in your web, you have become nothing more than the fly, wrapped up safe and warm in the threads of another’s reality, simply waiting to be consumed?”
There was an old lady who swallowed a cat.
Imagine that, she swallowed a cat.
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider
That wriggled and jiggled and wiggled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.
But I don’t know why she swallowed that fly
Perhaps she’ll die
”You and I, we have a destiny, we have been doing this dance for so long, you barely noticed when the beat changed. This is not about a Championship, though what you hold has been a constant source and served as proof of your own deceptions; this is not even about blood.
I care nothing of gaining your flesh, if you bleed, it means nothing. I want to take from you, just as I took from Siberia; for too long, I have been dancing, step by step alongside you, we have given them all a taste for it and now, the masses bray and they edit on the edges of their seat, as though we are nothing more than a soap opera, episode by episode for their own amusement.
But this time, they will see… Everyone will see that you have had your chance, you have stepped into the light and done nothing. You have not found yourself there, as you will never find yourself anywhere. No, you can call yourself anytime name you’d like, I can assign any likeness I so choose.
But you are not a man either Mi Amore, you are a puppet, strings pulled by her, a woman with whom my obsession should have started and a woman who will be at your side when you fall to me.”
There was an old lady who swallowed a dog.
What a hog! To swallow a dog!
She swallowed the dog to catch the cat
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider
That wriggled and jiggled and wiggled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.
But I don’t know why she swallowed that fly
Perhaps she’ll die.
A flutter of wings draws your attention from those ruby red lips, your eyes drag skywards and settle on a thick branch, gnarled and knotted, the limb juts out into the reach like the arm of a crone. But it is not frail, it does not shudder or shake when the crow, black as night, settles upon her.
Black eyes, beady and hollow are all that you can look into, perhaps you thought you could escape this; the endless nothing, the void into which she sucks your soul, piece by piece. But no, you are here again and, as the cold, damp, darkness settles in, it is all you can do not to cover your bare skin, for fear of its slimy touch.
There was an old lady who swallowed a goat.
Just opened her throat and swallowed a goat!
She swallowed the goat to catch the dog
She swallowed the dog to catch the cat
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider
That wriggled and jiggled and wiggled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.
But I don’t know why she swallowed that fly
Perhaps she’ll die.
”People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead.
But there will be no final rest for you, Mi Amore; we have so much more to tell. Your path does not conclude here with me, though you may stray from it, though you may as always, have eyes for another. We both know not a single pound of flesh will be enough to end this in its entirety… You have always belonged to me, that little black spot, marked on your soul, destined for me. That is where I live and breathe, that is what allows me to pump through your system even in your waking hours.
And though you may call off all pretense, you cannot begin to believe that this be enough; close the book, but the pages will still be waiting for you, replace ink for blood and you know, as we have always known, what is waiting for you.
There is a lore, that a blood king is able, to use his blood, to write a treaty between those at war. But you are not fae and I am not ethereal, I am of body and muscle and bone, just as you are. And not a single drop spilt, not an ebbing river, not a sea crashing against the shore of the canvas, will be enough to write a treaty between us.
You, are a part of me, Mi Amore, as I am a part of you. Little red, or Alice, it matters not. We will fight until the end of time, there will be novels written in our names of the battles we will endure, there will be statues erected in memory of the blood we will spill, only to find our way back to one another…”
There was an old lady who swallowed a cow.
I don’t know how she swallowed a cow!
She swallowed the cow to catch the goat
She swallowed the goat to catch the dog
She swallowed the dog to catch the cat
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider
That wriggled and jiggled and wiggled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.
But I don’t know why she swallowed that fly
Perhaps she’ll die.
”I will meet you, in the ring, as has been promised and we will rage war, we will have them on their feet, screaming until their very voice give out at the wreckage to be left in our wake. There it will lie, all that has come before now and all that is laid out before us.
You can only hope to wade through the carnage, there is no salvation in this fight, Krähe, no redemption awaiting you on the other side. You load and load your shoulders until your knees buckle. And we watch. We laugh. We toy with you because you are nothing more than a monkey who dances as the organ is ground…
But you are my monkey to dance on this night, you are my plaything, my destiny, you are everything and you are nothing; you have failed to see, you have allowed yourself to become lost in my deceptions and now, you will understand; through the blissful agony of our meeting, you will see;
The only true escape, Mi Amore; is death.
And you, are too much of a coward, to welcome him in.”
There was an old lady who swallowed a horse
She’s dead, of course.
A hand reaches up, porcelain and smooth, the wrist delicate yet solid, disappearing beneath a red cloak; that same hand plucking the fruit from its spindly vine and bringing it down, to scarlett lips; bright and wet and shimmering, lips you know so very well by now. A flash of white teeth, plunging into the supple flesh of the fruit and with a heavy gulp, a mouthful or the dark, juicy fruit and the entire fly, swallowed down without so much as a sound.
There was an old lady who swallowed a fly.
I don’t know why she swallowed that fly,
Perhaps she’ll die.
”Mi amore…
Not a wolf. Not a rat. But a man, just a man, lost in the lines of his own story; believing he is the pursuer, is a man who is beyond the realm of being lost. You demand that we drop pretense, that I release you from this winding and never ending fantasy. But, praytell, do tell, what makes you think that your reality is the true one?
What in all of the worlds, in all of the stories and tales and whispered secrets, has given you the unfounded and yet, somehow, so very stoic belief, that what you deem to be true. Is truth and truth in of itself? I wonder, my love, my enemy, my… Prince. Who has put such dangerous thoughts in to your head that this is where the tale ends?
There are so many more chapters in our book, Mi Amore… You simply need to stop fearing what you will find, when you turn the page.”
There was an old lady who swallowed a spider.
That wriggled and jiggled and wiggled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.
But I don’t know why she swallowed that fly
Perhaps she’ll die.
As she speaks, Brodie rolls back her head; bright painted lips parting with a soft, barely audible gasp. It is the gentle line of her throat, the curve of her neck, that you notice first. The way her collarbone lifts and falls with each, tender breath. Not a moment to spare, she extends her tongue, flat and wet; as two, then four and six, to eight, legs climb their way from the dark recesses of her throat.
It sits there, as though making silk, for the longest moment atop her tongue. And you would perhaps think this were a toy, a clever trick, but as soon as the thought crosses your mind, eight legs and small hairy body, scramble from her tongue and with a single thread, is gone.
There was an old lady who swallowed a bird.
How absurd, to swallow a bird!
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider
That wriggled and jiggled and wiggled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.
But I don’t know why she swallowed that fly
Perhaps she’ll die
”Oh what a mighty web we weave…
Deception Mi Amore; has been your namesake. You have built your empire upon the powers of deception and because of this, because of your own futility in the truth, you believe those same lies to be life, that you have a Singular grasp on reality;
But what, if in your web, you have become nothing more than the fly, wrapped up safe and warm in the threads of another’s reality, simply waiting to be consumed?”
There was an old lady who swallowed a cat.
Imagine that, she swallowed a cat.
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider
That wriggled and jiggled and wiggled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.
But I don’t know why she swallowed that fly
Perhaps she’ll die
”You and I, we have a destiny, we have been doing this dance for so long, you barely noticed when the beat changed. This is not about a Championship, though what you hold has been a constant source and served as proof of your own deceptions; this is not even about blood.
I care nothing of gaining your flesh, if you bleed, it means nothing. I want to take from you, just as I took from Siberia; for too long, I have been dancing, step by step alongside you, we have given them all a taste for it and now, the masses bray and they edit on the edges of their seat, as though we are nothing more than a soap opera, episode by episode for their own amusement.
But this time, they will see… Everyone will see that you have had your chance, you have stepped into the light and done nothing. You have not found yourself there, as you will never find yourself anywhere. No, you can call yourself anytime name you’d like, I can assign any likeness I so choose.
But you are not a man either Mi Amore, you are a puppet, strings pulled by her, a woman with whom my obsession should have started and a woman who will be at your side when you fall to me.”
There was an old lady who swallowed a dog.
What a hog! To swallow a dog!
She swallowed the dog to catch the cat
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider
That wriggled and jiggled and wiggled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.
But I don’t know why she swallowed that fly
Perhaps she’ll die.
A flutter of wings draws your attention from those ruby red lips, your eyes drag skywards and settle on a thick branch, gnarled and knotted, the limb juts out into the reach like the arm of a crone. But it is not frail, it does not shudder or shake when the crow, black as night, settles upon her.
Black eyes, beady and hollow are all that you can look into, perhaps you thought you could escape this; the endless nothing, the void into which she sucks your soul, piece by piece. But no, you are here again and, as the cold, damp, darkness settles in, it is all you can do not to cover your bare skin, for fear of its slimy touch.
There was an old lady who swallowed a goat.
Just opened her throat and swallowed a goat!
She swallowed the goat to catch the dog
She swallowed the dog to catch the cat
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider
That wriggled and jiggled and wiggled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.
But I don’t know why she swallowed that fly
Perhaps she’ll die.
”People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead.
But there will be no final rest for you, Mi Amore; we have so much more to tell. Your path does not conclude here with me, though you may stray from it, though you may as always, have eyes for another. We both know not a single pound of flesh will be enough to end this in its entirety… You have always belonged to me, that little black spot, marked on your soul, destined for me. That is where I live and breathe, that is what allows me to pump through your system even in your waking hours.
And though you may call off all pretense, you cannot begin to believe that this be enough; close the book, but the pages will still be waiting for you, replace ink for blood and you know, as we have always known, what is waiting for you.
There is a lore, that a blood king is able, to use his blood, to write a treaty between those at war. But you are not fae and I am not ethereal, I am of body and muscle and bone, just as you are. And not a single drop spilt, not an ebbing river, not a sea crashing against the shore of the canvas, will be enough to write a treaty between us.
You, are a part of me, Mi Amore, as I am a part of you. Little red, or Alice, it matters not. We will fight until the end of time, there will be novels written in our names of the battles we will endure, there will be statues erected in memory of the blood we will spill, only to find our way back to one another…”
There was an old lady who swallowed a cow.
I don’t know how she swallowed a cow!
She swallowed the cow to catch the goat
She swallowed the goat to catch the dog
She swallowed the dog to catch the cat
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider
That wriggled and jiggled and wiggled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.
But I don’t know why she swallowed that fly
Perhaps she’ll die.
”I will meet you, in the ring, as has been promised and we will rage war, we will have them on their feet, screaming until their very voice give out at the wreckage to be left in our wake. There it will lie, all that has come before now and all that is laid out before us.
You can only hope to wade through the carnage, there is no salvation in this fight, Krähe, no redemption awaiting you on the other side. You load and load your shoulders until your knees buckle. And we watch. We laugh. We toy with you because you are nothing more than a monkey who dances as the organ is ground…
But you are my monkey to dance on this night, you are my plaything, my destiny, you are everything and you are nothing; you have failed to see, you have allowed yourself to become lost in my deceptions and now, you will understand; through the blissful agony of our meeting, you will see;
The only true escape, Mi Amore; is death.
And you, are too much of a coward, to welcome him in.”
There was an old lady who swallowed a horse
She’s dead, of course.