Grey Wall
Towering over everything was the Grey Wall. For a thousand generations the Grey Wall had separated the worlds, looming above each in silent threat of what lay on the other side.
Looming in the heart of the the unchosen.
No being had every crossed the Wall.
No human would try for the abject terror it brought the imagination. Even the birds, circling and wheeling about the azure sky would not cross the line of demarcation. The Wall meant safety and the Wall meant death.
Zenyassa did not care for safety and she did not fear death. She was Unchosen. What did it matter? What was life without the risk of losing it? She could not feel alive sitting before a thatch hut milling grain while the men of her village hunted wild yissana beasts. Their hunt brought them adventures and risk for the reward.
The yissana beasts were the prey of the mighty zarach. All teeth and claws, armored in leathery skin decorated with bright plumage. They hunted alone. Even the men in all their fervor feared to encounter on.
Zenyassa shuddered at the thought of the zarachs. She was brave, but to face one alone was a challenge akin to the Grey Wall itself. No, the Grey was a different challenge. With the zarach, it was life or death. With the Grey it was unknown. What happened on the other side was unknown and there existed fates worse than death.
Fear pervaded her, cutting off all other feelings as Zenyassa stood at the base of the Wall. Her hand grasped a protrusion, bulging from the wall’s unyielding flank. It felt cold even though the day was hot and the red sun burned and scorched from above. None knew of what material the Grey Wall was made from. It was just another of the mysteries.
Mysteries Zenyassa was going to solve.
Hand over hand she climbed.
Each precarious hand hold bringing her closer to destiny. The Unchosen who crossed the Grey.
#fiction
https://jtwannabewriter.blogspot.com
If I can’t have you
If I can’t ever have you the way I crave, then I cannot have you at all.
I desire every ounce of you, and I need to taste your breath and give life back to you.
I thirst for your being, and I need your soul dancing with mine together as one.
I want to collect your tears, store them in a jar, and show you how beautiful your emotions are when you weep.
I don’t know how else to love you but to love all of you.
So, forgive me for wanting to kiss you deeply and profoundly as you deserve.
(Orignally Posted 1 year ago)
Let Them Lie
Something is prodding my rib cage. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. I am not ready for this. Two hands shake me. One nudges me in the armpit. The other scratches behind my ears.
“Damnit, Jenna. Stop poking. What do you want?”
She smiles too big. She is crouching down next to me. Legs bent, grasshopper-like. Her fingers are spread in the fur at my neck, stroking absent-minded. A whining sigh creeps up my throat uninvited, and I jerk away from her. She frowns momentarily, then brightens as she digs her hand into her pocket.
“You left your lighter at my house! I wanted to return it.”
“I don’t smoke anymore, Jenna. No one smokes when they are sleeping.”
Her smile slips, again. This time it doesn’t return. She gets to her feet and begins kicking at the ground. She bites her nails. Weighs her words.
“Ok. I was bored. This place sucks. I haven’t had fun in...”
I cut her off here. A sharp bark escapes me before I have time to compose myself. I should have known. She is ever prepared. She would come with excuses.
“Surely, you could have asked the cat? She’s a riot.”
“Gillian? She scares me. She has no regard for my life.”
I want to tell her that Gillian has nine lives and therefore, has little regard for life at all. Now doesn’t seem to be the time. Striking a conversation will only prolong this meeting.
“Jenna. I’m going back to sleep. Wake up the cocker spaniel, Billy? Bobby? Benny? I don’t know. I’m sure he will be up for anything you like. He has a soft spot for you.”
“M, I’m so lonely. I needed to talk about it.”
I have a soft spot for her too. My body does that twitching thing. A shiver from my tail up to my shoulders. I try to shake it out, but it lingers. I feel heavy, even for a Mastiff.
“Alright. Well, you woke me up. Buy me a drink, at least.”
Jenna never makes me wear a collar or a leash. It is just one of the things that fuels my amity for her. She could. I’ve seen people tie up smaller breeds in hopes that they don’t run away. So they don’t chase their tails. To control the situation. Dogs are strong. Jenna knows she has no control. I’m awake. She has no control. She is quiet as we walk to the bar. I am rambling lazily. She trots to keep up. When we get to the bar she orders sparkling water for herself and an IPA for me. Something is off. She’s not talking. I feel anxious.
“You’ve got cigarettes on you?”
She rummages in her purse, then hands me my lighter and a square. My brand, not hers. I know why I’m awake.
“You’re sober now?”
She doesn’t answer. I know why I’m awake.
My name is M, and I am Jenna’s addiction.
I down my beer and order two shots. The first goes down hot as fire. The second, like syrup soothing my raw insides. I order two more, hand Jenna my cigarette. She takes a drag, blowing the smoke into the bartenders face. They both laugh, but hers sounds hollow, forced. I push one shot to her and paw at the other.
“To waking up?”
She looks like she might not accept the toast, but then she laughs again, raises her glass.
“To waking up.”
She throws her head back, swallows hard. I lick her nose, and now she laughs for real. A giggle. Small, but genuine.
