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May. 31st, 2006 01:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_f_twistThey set upon him in the fall of the day, when the sun is slanting down the western arc of the sky, burning blue and hot above. There's a hit to the back of his head, a leg between his and a push at his back and he trips, goes down fighting without having any idea of who or how many or where they are before the tire iron swings down
No. That isn't how it happens.
He's fixing a flat--another goddam flat on this goddam truck, time now to get a new one, he figures, and wipes some sweat off his brow, leaving a smudge of grease just above his eyebrow, and just before the tire blows, he glances up to squint at the sun, and then there's an explosion and the sun is gone and so is everything else.
Is that how it happens?
There's a push that might be hot air or might be hands, and grass rough against his back either way.
He wants to vomit from the kick to his stomach. There's a sharp pain in his head. He tries to hit back. It doesn't seem to make a difference.
He thinks they've maybe broken some ribs. He hopes that's all they've broken.
He doesn't see the swing of an arm, doesn't catch the dull glimmer of hot sun on the tire iron when it falls, only feels something in his face break and shatter and he chokes on the sudden thick gush of blood
(He pushes Ennis up into the wall and four fucking years, it's been, and he can't help but be rough and he can't get close enough, tasting blood on his lips that might be his and might be Ennis' and they wrestle closer)
Either way, there's metal.
There was metal, iron and bone shatter and
clang
goes the tire (iron)
Either way, he (pushed tripped kicked beaten down now) (fell) falls.
kicked and kicking tripped and hitting smashed and blood and
And either way, there's pain. Choking and searing down his throat hot metallic (blood) pain and.
And
The sky is so feel
And then everything is clouded.
In the end, he's left there (they leave him there) alone, sprawled on his back with the hot coppery smell of blood
blood like metal like iron like salt
and metal in the dirt and the grass that's been stirred up by the brief struggle, blood soaking into the dry earth, unconscious.
Nothing merciful about it, though it cuts his bewilderment short.
And in the gathering dark, the moon rises, the curve of a smile.
It's beautiful. And somewhere, there's the sound of wings.
No. That isn't how it happens.
He's fixing a flat--another goddam flat on this goddam truck, time now to get a new one, he figures, and wipes some sweat off his brow, leaving a smudge of grease just above his eyebrow, and just before the tire blows, he glances up to squint at the sun, and then there's an explosion and the sun is gone and so is everything else.
Is that how it happens?
There's a push that might be hot air or might be hands, and grass rough against his back either way.
He wants to vomit from the kick to his stomach. There's a sharp pain in his head. He tries to hit back. It doesn't seem to make a difference.
He thinks they've maybe broken some ribs. He hopes that's all they've broken.
He doesn't see the swing of an arm, doesn't catch the dull glimmer of hot sun on the tire iron when it falls, only feels something in his face break and shatter and he chokes on the sudden thick gush of blood
(He pushes Ennis up into the wall and four fucking years, it's been, and he can't help but be rough and he can't get close enough, tasting blood on his lips that might be his and might be Ennis' and they wrestle closer)
Either way, there's metal.
There was metal, iron and bone shatter and
clang
goes the tire (iron)
Either way, he (pushed tripped kicked beaten down now) (fell) falls.
kicked and kicking tripped and hitting smashed and blood and
And either way, there's pain. Choking and searing down his throat hot metallic (blood) pain and.
And
I hurt myself today, to see if I still
The sky is so feel
blue.
And then everything is clouded.
In the end, he's left there (they leave him there) alone, sprawled on his back with the hot coppery smell of blood
blood like metal like iron like salt
and metal in the dirt and the grass that's been stirred up by the brief struggle, blood soaking into the dry earth, unconscious.
Nothing merciful about it, though it cuts his bewilderment short.
And in the gathering dark, the moon rises, the curve of a smile.
It's beautiful. And somewhere, there's the sound of wings.
