Stop-Start+Circles+Exercise+2+Emilee


 * Ebbing**

Ebbing waves dragged insistently, tickling hard soles and lapping in-between my toes. Frigid fingers curled against my palm, hard and wiry and digging as equally into the creamy sand as knuckles were into the spaces between my fingers. His shoulder was at an elegant slant to mine, thick and bony and nearly protruding from his skin. As wind teased walnut-husk hair back and forth across his lips, water pushed and puled at our taut flesh; gently at mine, tentatively at his. His breath shallowly rushed in and out; I felt it at my ear. His cement bones scraped roughly at my skin; I could hear the faint grating screech. A bruise was starting to stain my skin purple; I rubbed a thumb back and forth, soothing as he hurt--little solid nips or pricks followed by my own light hand; a warm band-aid. (My thoughts were small, distracted lines; lagging behind the shapes I traced with my eyes, like his cheek--a small, shredded coconut curl; his smile shallow and ebbing.)


 * Ripples**

Ripples of thought touched ripples of thought, gently bumping memories and the odd fleeting feeling or two. Yesterday's vague emotions were tugged into a thin stream by a passing reminiscing dream--a curious thing that actually accomplished more than it should and reminded me, softly, of what was possible and what must be forgotten. It traveled slowly, straightening out whatever it happened to pass, tapping wishes politely and nudging the more stubborn ones, persistent and defined. It got along well with the prejudices and biases though, with the traffic laws and memorized facts, but it stayed away from the demanding memories, the brilliant colours, straying from the haphazard path it followed to dodge strong smells and vivid daydreams. Something clung to them, perhaps something strong, like a repellent. They were untouchable, sacred, delicate--protected from the chastising correction of realization. They moved, wobbling, from side-to-side, humming warmly like leaves cast on a tepid pond, protected and naive, avoiding the ripples.


 * Dappled**

Dappled aquas weaved in and out of the purple knots and heavy indigo graining, brushing over the rosy burgundy hairs on misty pastel greens, over shivering mauves and marshmallow browns of bark, leaves, earth. Electric blue wind blew fiercely, smelling of metallics and marmalade and chemicals, like oil paints, like lightning. It chilled our vanilla lips the same cool aqua that the light cast; chapped and serious and dappled.


 * Bejeweled**

Bejeweled fingers swing listlessly, tapped rhythmically, curled crumpled paper and smoothed wrinkled edges like the soft push-pull of a shallow breath. They clicked sharply against each other, hissing and grating when she flipped a soft gray page; fingertips balancing gently on the fine edge, tempting fate to give her a papercut. Her eyes, too, were bejeweled, and absurdly concentrated, and shining. Her hair, slick with grease and dotted with knots, her forehead adorned with a thick crown of wrinkles, a soft thin garment draped majestically over shapeless shoulders. Her breath hissed as the newspaper hissed, rustling over itself as her knuckles brushed over each other. The wealth that decorated her fingers was spectacular; thick and heavy plastic bottle rings, soda tabs, the gooey ink blot from her leaking pen which matched the thick black spot on her nose, the hopeless spots leaking from her eyes, which were hot and damp now, shining and round and bejeweled.


 * Hazy**

Hazy lay of the stillborn day; a tapestry faded to tattered and jaded. It sat, brooding and heavy, over my shoulders, pressed at my scalp and pulled at my feet, which had sunk heavily into the ground, which was like soup. It swept, sulking and granite, like an enormous ruffled raven. It was impossible to shake off. It was inevitable to suffocate; to feel the hot gingery build-up drowning my chest, to slowly thicken and fade into a numbness, which was bored, itching, hazy.


 * Torn**

Torn edges prickled softly at her bare toes, the wind humming in her hair and nudging suggestions across her numb mahogany lips, her soft smooth shoulder blades. Young skin was chilled as frosty autumn air nipped at it, fiery jeweled colours blowing across her cheeks and drying her glistening eyes. She sniffed--a short, sharp sniff--thinking that maybe it wasn't such a long way down; too terrified to try but pretending she just wasn't desperate enough. //It would be stupid,// she thought. //I'm too much of a coward,// she thought again. She peeked shyly beyond the crumbs at her toes, just to make sure. She tried to ignore how the ground swelled and wobbled before her, and wobbled backwards instead, feeling light grazing numbness prick her toes, at her eyes. //Maybe I'll just...//she left the rest of the excuse to the girl who she imagined was still standing there--tall and breathless, more elegant and less realistic. The wind still whipped at her hair and pushed at her crumpled shoulder blades, growing steadier as the suggestion to give in and be //pushed// grew more solid. Silently, the girl watched the misty mirage, shaking and fumbling with a cigarette and frowning as she lit it. //Stay awhile.// The suggestion was dry in her own thoughts, as smoky as her coal-flavoured breath. She warmed her fingertips in a tight fist, clenching-unclenching as she distractedly imagined the thick silence drape and wind and curl in bends on top of the daydream's cardboard shoulders. //She'd jump soon, or be pushed.// Her thoughts were clouded and bitter, trying to decipher whether it was courage or not, when the teetering, prickling toes wibble-wobbled over the crummy papercut edge, dangling in the air just long enough to realize what was happening. Numbly, she waited ten seconds. Bravely, she didn't close her eyes. Boldly, she peeked beyond the crumbling edge and gazed indifferently at the tangled hair, autumn-stained rocks, the edges of the planes of her skin crumbling and torn.