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Disclaimer - Nope, the are not mine. Even though slavery was abolished hundreds of years ago NBC still claims Jarod and all the other dudes to be their property...can't change that...don't intend to make money with them...just wanna have some fun...
This is for Rebecca. May her nightmares seize.
Dream A Little Dream
by Shaznay
I dream, now.
Not violent, explosive snatches, not running, the lights, heart pounding mouth dry, thudding, the grit of cement, sweep of lights and running must get over the fence because she's there because she's there she's there and omygodomygodomygod
Curls now.
Standing in the light afterwards, watching it depart with the slow acidic realization that she's gone.
Gone.
Now.
Forever.
Out of your reach.
Bang of a gavel, the panel scowling down at you, telling you that it's over...over...over...remanded and removed...then her eyes, those slickly perfect eyes like pebbles under running water unreachable and cold behind mascara and eyeliner, memory of years and the departure and Ms. Parker...all...blaming you...burning...burning...burning...
I dream now.
Long, languorous lazy curlicues sculpted of iron, spiraling.
Ebony, endless and slick with the bloody kiss of memory, sublime and perfect, sculpted from flawless marble, with a carved mahogany banister that is cool to the touch.
A stairway, leading down forever, into velvet night.
And this night, it is a mansion with white pillars, stairs rising to a deep veranda, a mansion of twisted thorn, rambling, pointed, barbed and tipped, black.
There is the call of the shrike intermingling with lightning, blue white. Justice standing in the courtyard, scales in her rigid hand, moss about her feet, fountain long stilled, ivy creeping around her base.
And then, I, stepping inside, onto the harlequin floor, with diamonds of black and diamonds of white falling together in cut precision. An eagle, made of brass, fallen upon the floor; the arrows it clutches are dented, dulled, broken.
There is also a faded cloth, trampled, dirty, upon the floor. I run my fingers across its unraveling edge. Bending close, the faintest vestige of red and white stripes. It crumbles to the touch, dissipating into the finest of particles, and I am somehow saddened, disappointed, but, shake my head as I might, I can think of no reason why.
My steps, they echo so loud upon the marble.
My hands, they are so feeble batting at the cobwebs.
My heart, it beats with such easy slowness.
Down, down, my feet lead me, into another tight spiraling staircase.
I stumble towards her.
I trip to my knees.
Such cold, cold hands upon my neck, on my vertebrae, tracing spirals upon my naked back down the back of my haunches, wrapping around me, drawing lovely frightening patterns, scribing.
She wears a black dress: black velvet dress with the print of bloody hands and soaring doves, stroking my side, brushing, moving, chafing crimson field click of heels, knees against marble.
There is the snick the cuffs shut.
I start, feeling metal around wrists.
I twist, bucking upwards.
Her hands, upon my shoulders, turning me around. And she bends close, so close, clawed hands catching at my jaw, porcelain face, the sharp acrid flavor of burning parchments, coppery spike of blood.
Her mouth, dark thing, coming down on me in the beginning of Armageddon, and straddling my flesh.
She holds my future.
Do you love me? she asks, running icy fingers down my chest, tugging me onto my knees.
You do love me! she smiles, tugging, the clink of metal upon linoleum.
You do.
She slides the leather band around my throat.
I cannot speak.
She smiles.
She smiles.
She smiles.
She smiles and she bends forth and she kisses me, filling my mouth with blood, copper-sweet.
And I wake.
And I scream.
I scream and I scream and I scream.
Too much coffee and old yucky pizza one night. Be warned! Don't eat before going to bed.
This is for Rebecca. May her nightmares seize.
Dream A Little Dream
by Shaznay
I dream, now.
Not violent, explosive snatches, not running, the lights, heart pounding mouth dry, thudding, the grit of cement, sweep of lights and running must get over the fence because she's there because she's there she's there and omygodomygodomygod
Curls now.
Standing in the light afterwards, watching it depart with the slow acidic realization that she's gone.
Gone.
Now.
Forever.
Out of your reach.
Bang of a gavel, the panel scowling down at you, telling you that it's over...over...over...remanded and removed...then her eyes, those slickly perfect eyes like pebbles under running water unreachable and cold behind mascara and eyeliner, memory of years and the departure and Ms. Parker...all...blaming you...burning...burning...burning...
I dream now.
Long, languorous lazy curlicues sculpted of iron, spiraling.
Ebony, endless and slick with the bloody kiss of memory, sublime and perfect, sculpted from flawless marble, with a carved mahogany banister that is cool to the touch.
A stairway, leading down forever, into velvet night.
And this night, it is a mansion with white pillars, stairs rising to a deep veranda, a mansion of twisted thorn, rambling, pointed, barbed and tipped, black.
There is the call of the shrike intermingling with lightning, blue white. Justice standing in the courtyard, scales in her rigid hand, moss about her feet, fountain long stilled, ivy creeping around her base.
And then, I, stepping inside, onto the harlequin floor, with diamonds of black and diamonds of white falling together in cut precision. An eagle, made of brass, fallen upon the floor; the arrows it clutches are dented, dulled, broken.
There is also a faded cloth, trampled, dirty, upon the floor. I run my fingers across its unraveling edge. Bending close, the faintest vestige of red and white stripes. It crumbles to the touch, dissipating into the finest of particles, and I am somehow saddened, disappointed, but, shake my head as I might, I can think of no reason why.
My steps, they echo so loud upon the marble.
My hands, they are so feeble batting at the cobwebs.
My heart, it beats with such easy slowness.
Down, down, my feet lead me, into another tight spiraling staircase.
I stumble towards her.
I trip to my knees.
Such cold, cold hands upon my neck, on my vertebrae, tracing spirals upon my naked back down the back of my haunches, wrapping around me, drawing lovely frightening patterns, scribing.
She wears a black dress: black velvet dress with the print of bloody hands and soaring doves, stroking my side, brushing, moving, chafing crimson field click of heels, knees against marble.
There is the snick the cuffs shut.
I start, feeling metal around wrists.
I twist, bucking upwards.
Her hands, upon my shoulders, turning me around. And she bends close, so close, clawed hands catching at my jaw, porcelain face, the sharp acrid flavor of burning parchments, coppery spike of blood.
Her mouth, dark thing, coming down on me in the beginning of Armageddon, and straddling my flesh.
She holds my future.
Do you love me? she asks, running icy fingers down my chest, tugging me onto my knees.
You do love me! she smiles, tugging, the clink of metal upon linoleum.
You do.
She slides the leather band around my throat.
I cannot speak.
She smiles.
She smiles.
She smiles.
She smiles and she bends forth and she kisses me, filling my mouth with blood, copper-sweet.
And I wake.
And I scream.
I scream and I scream and I scream.
Too much coffee and old yucky pizza one night. Be warned! Don't eat before going to bed.
