Death, even when she was not physically gone - was always gone, always working, even when her eyes were closed she was working. Bouncing, moving, faster then a blink of an eye - there, here, back again. If there is one point eight deaths per second that for every minute there are 108 deaths. Times that by sixty, sixty minutes makes an hour, twenty-four hours makes a day.
Even when she is laying on the cool grass, the blades tickling her bare legs and arms - or perhaps her cheek when she turns to look - to smile, to reach out and touch a passing fire fly, she is not always there. Her mind is other places, it's called projecting, it's called, time management. Even when she is playing, when her arms are around his thick neck, the velvet fur rubbing up against her forearms - and when her head his on his chest - listening to the purr, she is not truly there.
1343 birds suddenly appear, every time, you are near. . . .
Even when she is laying on the cool grass, the blades tickling her bare legs and arms - or perhaps her cheek when she turns to look - to smile, to reach out and touch a passing fire fly, she is not always there. Her mind is other places, it's called projecting, it's called, time management. Even when she is playing, when her arms are around his thick neck, the velvet fur rubbing up against her forearms - and when her head his on his chest - listening to the purr, she is not truly there.
When they lay together, naked in the hot sun - his lips on hers, on her neck and face - there is a part of her that is not all there. She does not tell him this, she would never dare whisper the words into his ear - because he would be upset with her, she is upset with herself because of it. She tells herself that it can not be helped, that if she could change it - she would, that if she had the chance she would sacrifice her very being to him.
She thinks about this when she is packing lunch, her hands moving - slowly folding the corners of the wax paper she puts in the bottom of the lunch boxes. She makes a bento box lunch for herself, and even an extra one for him - but there is raw boar meat that he would like better that she wrapped up for him. They all went into a wicker basket, with a blanket and a large bottle of water and a bowl - she thought, how perfect it would be.
It would be perfect, the sun shining, the sky blue - with a hint of cold that blew across the still green grass, that tossed about the still green leaves. Everything has a cycle, the green of the spring and summer would soon be replaced by the gold of the autumn and then, once they died - everything would be bare. Even nakedness, even being stripped bare, there was a certain beauty to it. To her, they looked like skeletons, reaching out - dead bony fingers, clawing toward the sky, their flesh laying around them - decaying on the icy ground.
But that was months away, now, things were still bright and alive - birds made calls to one another as she walked deep into the forest, gripping the basket with both hands as she made short little steps up toward the path she found that lead higher up the mountain, confined by her silk Kimono. She remembered when she had found him, bleeding and by the pond, her arms tightened - remembering the strain of carrying him back to the house. Everything has a memory, even arms and legs - even grass once you step on it. How funny it is, memories, how they effect us - how they can make us smile or turn quickly to anger.
How funny it is, that one will always want something they can not have. Man in summer will always long for winter, and man in winter will always long for summer. It is the way of things, that it is easier to be discontent with what you don't have, then be content with what you have. All of these things she thought about when she spread the blanket down on the grass in the spot she had picked simply because of its view over looking the valley.
Everything was spread out, the lunch the water in the bowl, and so she lent back on her hands and tilted her face up toward the sun to feel it, bright and hot against her skin. Even as she enjoyed the sunshine she could feel her mind moving, her other self hopping from place to place - names, places, times, dates - all one giant stream of consciousness in the back of her head. When she was off in her own little world he came up beside her and laid down gently, wrapping himself around her, like a living fur stole.
Waking her, he lifted his head, sniffed and then rubbed his cheek against her arm and she opened her eyes to smile at him. With a lick of her cheek he laid down on his belly and nuzzled the wax paper bundle of meat and mewed softly and gave her a questioning glance. She picked it up and opened it - feeding him chunks of red, raw boar meat - he licked and swallowed the pieces happily before chewing playfully on the fingers that fed him. Scowling she would lightly smack his muzzle with her fingers and he would pull away to growl and bat at her hand with his paw.
They ate their lunch in silence, speaking only with their minds she picked up her chop sticks and started in on her lunch - trying to eat as he bumped his head against her arm causing bits of rice and meat to fall back into the box. Crying out, she smacked him with her chop sticks and he pulled away with a sorry expression on his muzzle - and she started to eat once more. After only a few bites he started to do it once more - shaking her arm, making it impossible to eat. Giving up she started throwing bits of rice and cucumber at him. He chewed on the rice, licking it up - but ignoring the cucumber, while he was distracted she tried to eat quickly, but he was too fast. Shoving his shoulder into her, she fell over with a cry, her lunch flying up into the air and down on to his head.
She was laughing when she fell over, but when she looked at him - the red box on his head like a hat and various pieces of lunch stuck to his muzzle and face, she started laughing harder and louder. The black cat was not, in any way amused, and went about licking himself clean - shaking his head to knock the box off. When he had cleaned himself off, and started licking his paw to rub his ears he gave her a dirty look. She couldn't help herself, it was too much and when she felt tears rolling down her cheeks she got pounced.
Holding her down on to the blanket with his paws, he started licking her face - which made her giggle even more, and try to get away. His tongue was like sand paper, but it also tickled, so much so that she kicked her feet and gasped breathlessly as she shoved at him. It was no use, he was too big and she was laughing too hard to actually put any strength behind her effort. After he teased her enough, he stopped and gave her time to catch her breath - laying on the blanket - she put a hand behind her head and smiled brightly up at him.
As he flopped down next to her, his head on her stomach she reached down and stroked his dark silky head - gazing up at the clouds she sighed contentedly. After a few minutes of silence she could hear his deep voice in her head, against the background of the noises and the names of the dying.
"What are you thinking, my love?"
"Nothing, Nushi - nothing at at all."
She thinks about this when she is packing lunch, her hands moving - slowly folding the corners of the wax paper she puts in the bottom of the lunch boxes. She makes a bento box lunch for herself, and even an extra one for him - but there is raw boar meat that he would like better that she wrapped up for him. They all went into a wicker basket, with a blanket and a large bottle of water and a bowl - she thought, how perfect it would be.
It would be perfect, the sun shining, the sky blue - with a hint of cold that blew across the still green grass, that tossed about the still green leaves. Everything has a cycle, the green of the spring and summer would soon be replaced by the gold of the autumn and then, once they died - everything would be bare. Even nakedness, even being stripped bare, there was a certain beauty to it. To her, they looked like skeletons, reaching out - dead bony fingers, clawing toward the sky, their flesh laying around them - decaying on the icy ground.
But that was months away, now, things were still bright and alive - birds made calls to one another as she walked deep into the forest, gripping the basket with both hands as she made short little steps up toward the path she found that lead higher up the mountain, confined by her silk Kimono. She remembered when she had found him, bleeding and by the pond, her arms tightened - remembering the strain of carrying him back to the house. Everything has a memory, even arms and legs - even grass once you step on it. How funny it is, memories, how they effect us - how they can make us smile or turn quickly to anger.
How funny it is, that one will always want something they can not have. Man in summer will always long for winter, and man in winter will always long for summer. It is the way of things, that it is easier to be discontent with what you don't have, then be content with what you have. All of these things she thought about when she spread the blanket down on the grass in the spot she had picked simply because of its view over looking the valley.
Everything was spread out, the lunch the water in the bowl, and so she lent back on her hands and tilted her face up toward the sun to feel it, bright and hot against her skin. Even as she enjoyed the sunshine she could feel her mind moving, her other self hopping from place to place - names, places, times, dates - all one giant stream of consciousness in the back of her head. When she was off in her own little world he came up beside her and laid down gently, wrapping himself around her, like a living fur stole.
Waking her, he lifted his head, sniffed and then rubbed his cheek against her arm and she opened her eyes to smile at him. With a lick of her cheek he laid down on his belly and nuzzled the wax paper bundle of meat and mewed softly and gave her a questioning glance. She picked it up and opened it - feeding him chunks of red, raw boar meat - he licked and swallowed the pieces happily before chewing playfully on the fingers that fed him. Scowling she would lightly smack his muzzle with her fingers and he would pull away to growl and bat at her hand with his paw.
They ate their lunch in silence, speaking only with their minds she picked up her chop sticks and started in on her lunch - trying to eat as he bumped his head against her arm causing bits of rice and meat to fall back into the box. Crying out, she smacked him with her chop sticks and he pulled away with a sorry expression on his muzzle - and she started to eat once more. After only a few bites he started to do it once more - shaking her arm, making it impossible to eat. Giving up she started throwing bits of rice and cucumber at him. He chewed on the rice, licking it up - but ignoring the cucumber, while he was distracted she tried to eat quickly, but he was too fast. Shoving his shoulder into her, she fell over with a cry, her lunch flying up into the air and down on to his head.
She was laughing when she fell over, but when she looked at him - the red box on his head like a hat and various pieces of lunch stuck to his muzzle and face, she started laughing harder and louder. The black cat was not, in any way amused, and went about licking himself clean - shaking his head to knock the box off. When he had cleaned himself off, and started licking his paw to rub his ears he gave her a dirty look. She couldn't help herself, it was too much and when she felt tears rolling down her cheeks she got pounced.
Holding her down on to the blanket with his paws, he started licking her face - which made her giggle even more, and try to get away. His tongue was like sand paper, but it also tickled, so much so that she kicked her feet and gasped breathlessly as she shoved at him. It was no use, he was too big and she was laughing too hard to actually put any strength behind her effort. After he teased her enough, he stopped and gave her time to catch her breath - laying on the blanket - she put a hand behind her head and smiled brightly up at him.
As he flopped down next to her, his head on her stomach she reached down and stroked his dark silky head - gazing up at the clouds she sighed contentedly. After a few minutes of silence she could hear his deep voice in her head, against the background of the noises and the names of the dying.
"What are you thinking, my love?"
"Nothing, Nushi - nothing at at all."
1343 birds suddenly appear, every time, you are near. . . .
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