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[lwa dreams] wrong part of town
May. 13th, 2003 12:50 pmA city, early morning. In that sort of blue half light that slides across your skin like new cream. I'm not sure what city this is, it's more of a combination of them. New Orleans, Philadelphia, London. All the cities I have loved. All the cities I have lost. All the places which remind me of pain. This city is a palace, built of despair.
It is silent, but for the slow tap of my bootheels against the concrete. In my right hand is a large silver dollar coin, real silver and stolen from the pirate's booty found in my father's basement after my grandmother died. I flip it over my knuckles, something which I could never do in my waking world. My heart hurts and my head is slightly spinny.
"Girl," he says from behind me. I did not know he was there. "You in the wrong part of town."
I turn slowly and not even the sight of him can crack a smile. I am a porcelian doll. Featureless, smooth. Hard. "Baron." I say to him quietly. And that is all. My voice isn't there.
His dark brow wrinkles with worry and deep concern. "Ange, I know you maman is sick. I see her face, even though it be a bit hazy. I know you scared, I can smell it coming off from you in waves like the sea. But, you can't be walking in these places. They not healthy. They make /you/ sick, too."
I flicker my eyes to the side, a habit of discomfort. I frown and the coin rocks over my knuckles again and again. He doesn't say anything now, merely watching me stand in my skin. I drop my coin holding hand and the silver dollar spins from my skin to bounce off the sidewalk with an audible clink.
He catches it on the rebound, then wraps his arms around my shoulders. "Cry, girl." He whispers and the solemn note in his voice, an inflection I'm not used to hearing from him, upsets me even more then I already was. "You go and cry."
I wake up and my face is wet with tears.
It is silent, but for the slow tap of my bootheels against the concrete. In my right hand is a large silver dollar coin, real silver and stolen from the pirate's booty found in my father's basement after my grandmother died. I flip it over my knuckles, something which I could never do in my waking world. My heart hurts and my head is slightly spinny.
"Girl," he says from behind me. I did not know he was there. "You in the wrong part of town."
I turn slowly and not even the sight of him can crack a smile. I am a porcelian doll. Featureless, smooth. Hard. "Baron." I say to him quietly. And that is all. My voice isn't there.
His dark brow wrinkles with worry and deep concern. "Ange, I know you maman is sick. I see her face, even though it be a bit hazy. I know you scared, I can smell it coming off from you in waves like the sea. But, you can't be walking in these places. They not healthy. They make /you/ sick, too."
I flicker my eyes to the side, a habit of discomfort. I frown and the coin rocks over my knuckles again and again. He doesn't say anything now, merely watching me stand in my skin. I drop my coin holding hand and the silver dollar spins from my skin to bounce off the sidewalk with an audible clink.
He catches it on the rebound, then wraps his arms around my shoulders. "Cry, girl." He whispers and the solemn note in his voice, an inflection I'm not used to hearing from him, upsets me even more then I already was. "You go and cry."
I wake up and my face is wet with tears.