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Jan. 28th, 2011 07:56 am (UTC)
#6 - And Where Were You?
Notes: Title was taken from Angie Hart's "Blue".
Disclaimer: Farley Claymore belongs to David Koepp.

I never thought much about the idea of the moon as seductress. Reminded me too much of a romance novel I snarked my way through back in Chicago - weres, destined mates, everything but the furry kitchen sink.

Right now - can't think of much else. Doors locked and curtains drawn, but I can't block him/her/it out: the silent pulse of something unconscious and alien and very much alive, moving across the horizon, blind to everything beneath her.

Seductive, yes, but not in the "do me, you gorgeous hunk of manbeast" sense - she hums with power, deep and forever like an endless sea, and just as freely given. Would be so easy to open myself to it and be rid of mind-reading debutante brats and snobby dragon bastards and unwanted gifts and all these pointless useless fucking lines in the sand. One good damn day and-

I beat my dented pillow, wishing I could bitchslap my id that easily. That way lies madness - and a shard of glass in my frontal lobes. If I'm lucky.

The moon floats just behind the curtains. I feel like she will rap at the window any second, pale and full, her face still as a breezeless lake.

I throw the pillow over my head, blocking out the room, pretending I don't know.

Night's not over yet...

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