HOME | DD

Description

"Do you believe in reincarnation?"

She purses her lips.

"It's not practical."

"Didn't ask if it was practical."

She looks into the reflective surface of his aviators, into her too-blue eyes (purple), seeing the reflection of her own doubt and uncertainty.

I'm too old for this, she thought. I'm too old to be chasing ghosts, when I could be joining them myself any day now.

She took a deep breath-- her expression smoothed, mirroring the deadpan on his own.

"In any other circumstance I would dismiss the concept as nothing but foolish theorizing, without a firm base of proof..."

"But."

"But with all that's happened to me-- to us-- throughout our lives, I'm beginning to wonder if there's actually some substance to what they say about... living more than one lifetime."

He nods, seemingly satisfied with her answer.

The sky above is scorched with the heat of the sun, giant golden orb dipping just below the horizon of dead trees with bare limbs clawing above, as if angry that they have been forgotten here in this vast, deserted land where nothing grows.

Not a single cloud dares permeate the sea of blood red above. Every drop of water for miles around has been wrung out, evaporated into nothingless. There are no clouds, because there is nothing for clouds to be born from.

"Do you think we're all alone, here?" she asks, despairingly, her hand immediately finding his. A solid anchor in an otherwise uncertain future.

He has no words, for once, an occurrence that has never happened before. He, with quips saturated in sarcasm always ready on the tip of his tongue, silent for once. A ripple of unease shudders through her, icy cold.

Stars are beginning to poke through the angry haze of scarlet-red sky, seeming dimmer in the presence of the dominating sun. They twinkle wanly, glimpses of a distant past, a past where, maybe, answers once existed for them, but not anymore.

A rumbling in the distance.

She doesn't look at him this time. If there was anything worse than being terrified, then it would be knowing beyond a doubt that he was terrified, too.

Night descending, much too quickly, now, the rumbling grows louder.

There are some things we know before we know.

"I wouldn't mind dying, if I only died once," he says eventually, breaking the tenseness between them; cleanly, sharply, much like a sword gutting a torso, or a knife stabbing a back (twenty-three times, on the floor of the Senate).

There are some things we know before we know.

There are some things we wish we never did.

Description

"Do you believe in reincarnation?"

She purses her lips.

"It's not practical."

"Didn't ask if it was practical."

She looks into the reflective surface of his aviators, into her too-blue eyes (purple), seeing the reflection of her own doubt and uncertainty.

I'm too old for this, she thought. I'm too old to be chasing ghosts, when I could be joining them myself any day now.

She took a deep breath-- her expression smoothed, mirroring the deadpan on his own.

"In any other circumstance I would dismiss the concept as nothing but foolish theorizing, without a firm base of proof..."

"But."

"But with all that's happened to me-- to us-- throughout our lives, I'm beginning to wonder if there's actually some substance to what they say about... living more than one lifetime."

He nods, seemingly satisfied with her answer.

The sky above is scorched with the heat of the sun, giant golden orb dipping just below the horizon of dead trees with bare limbs clawing above, as if angry that they have been forgotten here in this vast, deserted land where nothing grows.

Not a single cloud dares permeate the sea of blood red above. Every drop of water for miles around has been wrung out, evaporated into nothingless. There are no clouds, because there is nothing for clouds to be born from.

"Do you think we're all alone, here?" she asks, despairingly, her hand immediately finding his. A solid anchor in an otherwise uncertain future.

He has no words, for once, an occurrence that has never happened before. He, with quips saturated in sarcasm always ready on the tip of his tongue, silent for once. A ripple of unease shudders through her, icy cold.

Stars are beginning to poke through the angry haze of scarlet-red sky, seeming dimmer in the presence of the dominating sun. They twinkle wanly, glimpses of a distant past, a past where, maybe, answers once existed for them, but not anymore.

A rumbling in the distance.

She doesn't look at him this time. If there was anything worse than being terrified, then it would be knowing beyond a doubt that he was terrified, too.

Night descending, much too quickly, now, the rumbling grows louder.

There are some things we know before we know.

"I wouldn't mind dying, if I only died once," he says eventually, breaking the tenseness between them; cleanly, sharply, much like a sword gutting a torso, or a knife stabbing a back (twenty-three times, on the floor of the Senate).

There are some things we know before we know.

There are some things we wish we never did.