Work Text:
Because I sit here wondering if anything you said was true,
Copperhead words bare their fangs and lunge forward, sinking poison into innocent veins unknowing of their fate. A feeble voice speaks up in the darkness, opalescent hum dancing in the air like sugar faeries watching their maker’s inevitable death.
and who it was that taught you to speak bullets
A man stands over the child, sword gripped in both hands, knuckles white with the effort to let her speak before he plunges the weapon into her still sternum. Breath even, his statements contradict his body language. The eye of the storm; she was in such close proximity she knew she would be harmed, and yet she wasn’t afraid.
without considering the exit wound.
Any final words?; such cliché words so tangible slithering from cold eyes, the grasp on his weapon’s hilt impatient, tongue licking his lips in expectancy.
Tell me who.
[ And in that deafening silence
I asked if I could still call you my snowflake
and you said okay. ]