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Literature Text
"No." Logan realized now that he didn't want an answer. That thinking she was crazy, that he had done something wrong was far better than knowing it was all a lie. That his one brief moment of human connection was tainted by lies. Then he wondered how she could have known . . .
- - - -
Logan grabbed a headset on his way out of the mansion. He got to the garage and paused. He held very still and absorbed everything he just learned, let every ramification of it touch him, assigning a different place for each emotion.
His legs held the anger that had propelled him out the door. His hands carried the pain and he let his claws slip through skin to revel in it. His head, confusion. He felt it as tension through his neck and into his eyes. Staring forward into his eyelids, he watched his thoughts flicker with harsh light on the tiny screen.
But in his stomache he put the vulnerablility of his own humanity. The normalcy Margret allowed him before she brutally returned him to his living purgatory. He breathed deed into that vulnerable place and let it break through, drowning his anger and pain in a deluge of bittersweet warmth. It proceeded more cautiously into his confusion, carefully trickling through his neck, up his face, politely replacing the scattering thoughts with a touch of water.
Logan sniffed, let the tear remain and smirked self-conciously, amused at his own weakness. He rolled his shoulders. Flesh over muscle over metal. He took a last, controlled breath and walked to his car. In the future he would simply recall that,
"I collected myself"
He drove. Five minutes out and Hank was talking to him calmy through the headset.
"Where are you going?"
"Heh, well actually, I was hoping you could tell me."
- - - -
Outside the comm room Scott was about ready to force his way past the Professor.
"Someone has to tell him, if not for his sake then for ours. I will not die for his piece of mind . . ."
- - - -
Logan grabbed a headset on his way out of the mansion. He got to the garage and paused. He held very still and absorbed everything he just learned, let every ramification of it touch him, assigning a different place for each emotion.
His legs held the anger that had propelled him out the door. His hands carried the pain and he let his claws slip through skin to revel in it. His head, confusion. He felt it as tension through his neck and into his eyes. Staring forward into his eyelids, he watched his thoughts flicker with harsh light on the tiny screen.
But in his stomache he put the vulnerablility of his own humanity. The normalcy Margret allowed him before she brutally returned him to his living purgatory. He breathed deed into that vulnerable place and let it break through, drowning his anger and pain in a deluge of bittersweet warmth. It proceeded more cautiously into his confusion, carefully trickling through his neck, up his face, politely replacing the scattering thoughts with a touch of water.
Logan sniffed, let the tear remain and smirked self-conciously, amused at his own weakness. He rolled his shoulders. Flesh over muscle over metal. He took a last, controlled breath and walked to his car. In the future he would simply recall that,
"I collected myself"
He drove. Five minutes out and Hank was talking to him calmy through the headset.
"Where are you going?"
"Heh, well actually, I was hoping you could tell me."
- - - -
Outside the comm room Scott was about ready to force his way past the Professor.
"Someone has to tell him, if not for his sake then for ours. I will not die for his piece of mind . . ."
Literature
Idiom: Thoroughly
"You said you wanted the reverse stripped out of you,
and that's all I left you with."
V. Kingston Upon Thames
How do fancy it? And do you fancy it at all?
Does it have geography and are we grey? Do we have
a time, do we have
a place?
(I am turning British corners and you are there,
middle-aged.)
I will hear our language drown in their heavy tongues. I
will search for their consonants in vain, and they will call
me foreign when I hit mine
too hard. I will search for you, middle-
aged.
We will not look like writers then. (We look like
hell; we look like
authors.) We will be worn dow
Literature
Blue Skies
Thine eyes, at night, reply
with glimpses, torrents and throes;
batting lashes as phoenix ashes,
skips of stone on open shores.
Wax to wane to bend friendly,
may this season be neverending:
rain drops on top,
wholesome sun on sole,
frosted futures,
the non-stop motion of blossoms.
Thine eyes, at times, defy
all psychic laws,
some physical, too;
there's whimsy, lipstick, demure posture -
one is lost in you.
The trickle that tickles the seed
is budding infinitely;
deafening, blinding, enlightening –
Suggested Collections
Yeah, so it's officially a serial. No idea when it'll be finished, though I finally have a rough sketch of the whole piece, so hurrah for that. I'll just be posting the next installments in their own sections, and I've just gone back and adjusted the previous ones so that they read like a serial now.
For your pleasure:
One
Two
and this, of course, is the third.
For your pleasure:
One
Two
and this, of course, is the third.
© 2004 - 2024 Astrophel
Comments19
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Wonderful. Just wonderful.
Logan is a great character, and I like what you've done with him here. Bravo. I've read all three parts so far, and I must say that I rather enjoy this one the most because of how wonderfully you've described the emotions, for instance how you had him slide out his claws to feel the pain. Brilliant.
Logan is a great character, and I like what you've done with him here. Bravo. I've read all three parts so far, and I must say that I rather enjoy this one the most because of how wonderfully you've described the emotions, for instance how you had him slide out his claws to feel the pain. Brilliant.