And Life Moved On…

The Battle of New York had been a devastating loss. With the failure of the Avengers Initiative, S.H.I.E.L.D. had gone underground, attempting to organize strategic attacks to break apart their invaders’ ranks. All of Earth’s many militaries fought long and hard to defend their country from the dictatorship of “King” Loki.

But it was not enough.

Loki had proven one thing: Earth was indeed a sorry mess. Her militaries could not seem to manage to work together no matter what anyone did. After the first six months, millions—millions of civilians began to flee to Russia, the country that Loki had chosen to base his operations in.

Unlike the many war zones they came from, he had millions upon millions of brand new, state of the art housing built. As it turned out, the reason he had not crushed the rebellions some countries still managed to lead against his ruling them was because his army had been building homes, repairing shops, and gathering clothes and food.

King Loki had set up enough jobs for everyone to have one. No one needed cars, because everything had been built in a perfect plan, and jobs were right by the housing of the people who worked there. Everything was priced reasonably. Not a single child was left homeless, nor an adult without work. The Orphanages were beautiful places, frequently visited by Loki himself.

The harsh winter came in Russia and was found to be no issue. Procedures had been put into place to help clear roads and ensure safety, and everyone was just generally nice and helpful. Whenever someone would cause trouble or break moral ethics—there wasn’t even a written law—, they were put into warm, but barren jails. By themselves. With enough food and water, but not much more. And astonishingly, these new prisons were extremely effective.

One by one, nation after nation surrendered to King Loki’s rule. He wasn’t even attacking anymore. Those living in countries that did not accept his rule had no food, no shelter, and no supplies, while those that did were postcard perfect pictures of economy mixing with nature reserves. Yes, nature reserves. And to the delight of billions around the world, King Loki would use his personal magic to ensure the upkeep of these places, where one could now go to see Earth’s natural beauty like it had never been witnessed before.

Airplanes, trains, and some buses were still used; but not excessively, as they had been before. Because of this, and the miraculous turn around of people leaving their cell phones to enjoy the new libraries, performing arts centers, parks, and simply to socialize, and the near extinction of cars and motorcycles, pollution began to clear up. Many people also claimed that they believed King Loki was using his magic to help that as well.

People were permitted to own weapons if they so wished, but everyone who did so was trained first. The Chitauri slowly changed, in the peoples’ minds, from monstrous beasts, to reclusive protectors.

Freedom of speech was granted to everyone, as was that of religion. Again, thanks to King Loki’s magic, science grew to unfathomable lengths. With his help, and a team of diligent geniuses, a way was even created to revert the people whose minds had been altered back to their normal states. As one can imagine, this made King Loki even more popular in the eyes of his subjects.

Seven years after Stuttgart, the last “free” country, the United States of America, surrendered. S.H.I.E.L.D. had shut down the borders so none could leave… and the people then proceeded to destroy S.H.I.E.L.D. themselves, seeing them as far more the aggressors than King Loki.

Much to the amazement of the people of Earth, shortly after Loki and the Chitauri completely rebuilt America to be ten times its former glory, he decreed on Channel Eight News that any and all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who remained were welcome to live however they wanted. He also claimed to have set aside an entire island that he would not touch, if they so wished to stay there. When asked how the agents could know it wasn’t a trap, or that the place wasn’t bugged, he laughed, and assured the lady on the news that he had no doubt that the agents would be able to find any bugs he put, if he had actually done so.

Though not all, many agents and some others did choose to go to the island. They created a decent enough civilization for themselves, and more or less were forgotten by the rest of their world.

Nine years after Stuttgart, it was shared on Channel Eight News that King Loki now had a Queen. Jane Foster, a name unknown to most.

What no one knew but the couple was how they had come to be a couple.

Loki had tracked Jane down personally, and offered her a job if she ever needed one. When she demanded to know why he thought she would ever work for him, he told her that not only was she quite brilliant, but she was all that was left of his life before being King, and he didn’t want to see her hurt.

Four years after that first encounter, and five after Stuttgart, she did come to him, but not for a job. Darcy, her one true friend, had been killed by S.H.I.E.L.D. when taking a journal from her. Darcy had been planning to give it to Jane ever since she happened to find it. It had been Thor’s. S.H.I.E.L.D. had taken it violently when she refused to hand it over, though anyone with a brain could have known that Thor would’ve wanted Jane to have it.

When she told Loki about that incident, a large portion of S.H.I.E.L.D. mysteriously disappeared, and Jane awoke the next morning to find a journal filled with familiar handwriting by her bed.

It had been filled with account after account that Thor had made after Loki’s supposed death on the Asbru Bridge of all their adventures from their youth.

She shared the journal with Loki, and because of it, the two ended up as more or less friends. She hated him for killing her friends, but could see now that he was no worse than S.H.I.E.L.D.

Over the next three years, they became closer and closer friends… Until a night with a little too much Vodka ended with them both naked in bed together. And not for the last time, either.

Odin had allowed Loki’s rule to continue even after the death of Thor because he was able to see through his grief that Loki was a good king. As a gift for their wedding, and as a somewhat alliance between Realms, Asgard sent one of Idunn’s Golden Apples to Jane and Loki. She was made immortal, and the seeds from the apple’s core grew Earth’s very own tree of golden apples.

When Thanos began to attack the Realms, he honored his agreement with Loki, and left Earth be. She was left with her strong King and kind Queen, and a population of happy, peaceful people.

Though few ever learned of it, and fewer lived long enough to see the day it saved them, Loki’s takeover of Earth had truly saved it.

And life moved on.

It Started at the Well

The air was crisp, the sun was bright, and the grass was green. Such was the day fate had chosen.


He had had yet another argument with his father, the King. Since he had discovered his true heritage, he had been volatile, and likely to burst into anger at any moment. Those precious few who had even pretended to enjoy his presence before the incident ceased their acting, not deeming it worth the threat of one of his explosions of temper just to endure being around him. Though he had believed himself to be alone before, now he truly was. Even his “brother”, who had claimed that he would love Loki despite their not sharing blood, had begun to avoid his company.

So, after receiving this treatment for many weeks and having a particularly unpleasant argument with Odin, Loki decided to escape the castle and meander through the village for the day.

In stark contrast to the luxurious gold-plated castle, the village was a mud pit. Houses built of sticks and small trees tied together precariously by twine and lined with hay and pitch, offset by rundown wooden shops. The people who walked about all wore shades of brown. All the men looked unkempt, and wore simple trousers and torn shirts, with an overcoat if they were lucky, and cracking leather boots. The women wore dresses that went from just below their knees to down to their ankles, with full length sleeves rolled up, their hair tied up in buns, and bare feet.

In comparison to the beautifully clad women with bright silks, soft slippers, and hair tied back and braided with silver and jewels, they looked like the brown mice that ran across the dirt streets.

Loki, unlike every other member of royalty or nobility he had ever met, did not mind their uncleanliness, nor their informal mannerisms. He found them endearing: An observation he wisely kept to himself. As a boy, he had often snuck out of the castle to enjoy village life for a day, and was not finding any difficulty now in blending in.

He wore a brown shirt with a tear down the front and sleeves torn at uneven lengths to just below his elbows, dark brown trousers that were rolled up to just below his knees, and an old pair of worn brown leather boots. His raven colored hair was not slicked back as it normally was. He had let it stay loose, the curls bouncing freely down to his shoulders until enough dust from the road was caught in them that they were weighted down.

After a few hours of milling around the village of Midgard, Loki decided he was thirsty, and began to make his way toward the well. The sun was directly overhead, making it the hottest part of the day, and the most unpleasant to be drawing water. Even still, he silently prayed that someone would be there, whatever their reasons, that he might ask for a drink from their pitcher.

Though it took him some time to make it across the village and up and over the hill separating Midgard from the valley with the well, it was still insufferably hot when he reached his destination. Fortunately for him, there was one other person unfortunate enough to also be at the well at this ungodly hour.

A young maiden, just barely younger than the Prince himself, was just pulling her pitcher from the well when Loki approached her.

“Good afternoon, milady. Might you spare me a drink from your pitcher to quench my thirst?” he asked, his silky voice somehow managing to make his request sound like going out of her way to give him a drink was an honor. Which, in reality, it was.

Quickly, she turned to face him, some water sloshing out of the pitcher as she did so. He was instantly entranced by her beauty. Her mouse brown hair was swept up in a tight knot, but some strands were hanging down her forehead and matted in the thin sheen of sweat that had built up in her time under the harsh sun. Her brown eyes sparkled with an amount of life he had only ever witnessed—in a female—in his mother. Her lips were a light pink, and her complexion fare. In his eyes, she was stunning.

“Of course, sir,” she replied kindly, extending the pitcher out to him. He smiled gratefully and thanked her, taking the pitcher and quenching his thirst. When he was finished, she smiled at him, accepting back the pitcher and laboriously refilling it. Loki watched from a distance as she lifted it to her head and began to painstakingly ascend the hill with it, still transfixed with her.

Even as he made his way back to the castle, Asgard, hours later, the kind-hearted maiden was still on his mind. Only at the oppressively cheery dinner that night did he realize he had never gotten her name. Not being one to back down from a challenge, he decided to return to Midgard once more the next day, to see what else he could discover about this girl.


Recalling vividly the happenings of the day before, Jane Foster of Midgard had purposely waited until all of the other mistresses had already fetched their water to fetch hers. Yesterday, they had been violent to her, and her pitcher had been cracked when she was shoved down. Now, though oppressively hot because it was noon, she should be safe.

Because her parents had died when she was a child, she lived with a family friend, her “Uncle” Eric Selvig. He loved her, and was a fairly accepted man in the village; but his reputation was not renowned enough to cause the people of Midgard to be kind to Jane. They had always been rude to her, but as she matured, it began to be more and more of a problem. She was 22 now, and of age to be married. Because she had, thus far, denied all her suitors, she was further cast out. And of course, to add to all that, she studied the night sky; an occupation frowned upon for men, and considered unacceptable for women.

As she drew her pitcher out of the well, a young man came up to her and politely requested a drink. She gave him the water he desired, sparing but a moment to think that he was quite handsomer than most men in her village. Tall, like nearly all the men were, but slender, with a darker air to him.

Later that night, when resting in bed, she began to think more on the man from the well. She decided that he was indeed handsome, and giggled at the thought that she would be far more likely to accept him as a suitor than those who had previously requested such.

That she might actually see him again never crossed her mind.

The Cost of a Mistake

It was early in the morning, and the sun had not yet risen into view. The clouds were a rosy peach color, and everyone was still fast asleep. Well, not quite everyone.

“Psssssst. Pitch? C’mon, wake up, wake up!”

Jack Frost Lunanoff was the youngest of five children, merely 5 years of age. He was unusual in appearance; his hair was of the purest shade of white imaginable, and his skin was a ghostly pale. There was a reason for his appearance, too. Jack had been born with the incredible gift of being able to control winter. Ice, snow, frost, and even the wind could be created and controlled at his command.

He was an energetic lad, and loved to play, as many children of his age did. Unlike most children, however, Jack was a prince. He was the youngest in line, having three older brothers and an older sister, but he was a prince all the same.

The brother he was currently trying to wake was Pitch Black Lunanoff, the second oldest in the family. He was 16 years of age, but was extremely close to Jack. Pitch had a striking appearance as well. His hair was jet black, and his skin a pale grey. His looks were also related to a supernatural gift. He could control the shadows, and peoples’ nightmares. He could even give nightmares.

Neither’s abilities caused their relationship to be the least bit stressed. Quite the opposite: Their favorite occupation was playing with their powers together. Every day they would discover a new trick, and found immense joy in showing the other. They were also comrades in crime: They were known throughout the castle for their constant pranks.

“Go back to sleep,” Pitch grumbled. Unlike Jack, he was not at all a morning person. He despised mornings. And the fact that he would often stay up far into the night to observe the stars and take advantage of the darkness for using his powers didn’t help his ability to wake the next morning.

Pitch rolled over in his bed, turning away from Jack while simultaneously dumping him off the bed. Pitch settled down to go back to sleep, but Jack wasn’t going to left him off that easy. He sat on the floor for a moment, pouting and thinking.

An idea came to Jack, and he climbed back up onto Pitch’s bed. “Do you wanna have a snowball fight?” Pitch couldn’t help but smile. He had a soft spot for Jack, and Jack had a soft spot for snowball fights. With a faked sigh, Pitch sat up, causing Jack to- quietly- squeak in success and slide off the bed.

He grabbed Pitch’s hand and dragged the half-asleep prince down several flights of stairs to a large ballroom. Running to the middle of the room, Jack stomped his foot onto the ground. Ice climbed across the ground from where he had stepped to the walls. It swirled in beautiful patterns, decorating everything. Jack then held up his hands. Face scrunched in concentration, Jack formed a glowing blue sphere in his hands. Once satisfied with its size, he moved both hands sharply upward, throwing the sphere up into the air. It exploded, and snow began to fall heavily onto the two princes.

Pitch stared around himself in awe, now fully awake. He had taught Jack how to make an impromptu snow storm, but the ice rink was new.

His thoughts were interrupted when a snowball smacked Pitch in the face. He laughed and ducked into a nearby shadow. Their snowball fights were quite a sight to behold. Jack could control the snow and fly, but Pitch could disappear and reappear anywhere using his shadows.

After nearly an hour of having snowball fights, building snow-people, ice skating, making snow angels, etc., the two had settled on playing one of Jack’s favorite games. He would leap through the air, and Pitch would use his shadows to catch Jack before he could fall.

This time went no differently than normal… until Jack started jumping faster than Pitch could conjure shadows to catch him with. “Slow down!” Pitch yelled. His tone was frustrated, but his face showed his worry. ‘What if I’m not able to catch Jack?’

Jack ignored his brother’s warning. With the next leap he took, Pitch panicked. He sent a burst of shadows Jack’s way… but in the process, he slipped on the ice. His aim was off, and the blast hit Jack in the head.

“Jack!” Pitch’s voice was filled with terror and dread as he ran to his brother, now curled up, unconscious, on the floor. He was old enough to know well how badly his brother could be hurt.

For years, all of the staff of his castle, and even his own siblings, had been wary of his powers. They feared them, and most disliked Pitch for them. He had always ignored them because his father- the just king Manfred Lunar Lunanoff- had always been supportive of him. His mother had always been as well; but alas, his dear mother, to whom he had been very close, had died while giving birth to Jack. But rather than disliking Jack for his mother’s death, he became exceedingly close to the boy. Closer than any of the rest of his family, or the staff. And for years, he hadn’t even thought about the harm some had claimed his powers could do.

But now, it was all he could think of.

Pitch pushed his thoughts and concerns for Jack’s health before all else. He lifted his brother up in his arms and ran through the palace until he found his father. His father was a morning person, like Jack, and was already awake and about.

When Pitch burst into the room his father quickly turned round in surprise. No one ever rushed into his room like that. But seeing his two sons- namely Jack- those surprised thoughts instantly disappeared.

“What happened?” King Lunar asked Pitch, taking Jack from his arms.

“We were playing in the ballroom and- and I accidentally hit him in the head with my powers,” Pitch panted. His crystalline, golden eyes were glassy and brimming with tears that were threatening to spill; his voice edged with terror and concern. “Will he be alright?”

King Lunar lay Jack on his bed and looked him over. He gave a small sigh. A grave sigh. Pitch’s fear grew even greater. “He will be fine. He will simply spend the rest of the day, and possibly into the next, in an undisturbable sleep. Likely having nightmares. Once the nightmares have run their course, I will be able to wake him with little problem.”

“Is there nothing I can do? Can I take them away from him?”

“No, we must simply wait.” Pitch nodded brusquely, and glanced at his brother again, before running to his bedroom. He closed the door and curled up into a ball, his back to the door. He cried into his arms, soaking his black nightclothes with his tears. Shadows engulfed the room in a still, eerie darkness.

Normally, Pitch’s shadows were a strange, beautiful, almost warming substance. They were very different from normal shadows. But now, these shadows were cold, and dangerous. They both looked and felt different, changing due to their master’s emotions. He was afraid. So, so terribly afraid.

He knew that he had hurt his brother. Thousands of thoughts swirled around inside his head. ‘What will everyone say?’ ‘Will Jack be angry with me?’ ‘I should’ve been able to stop that from happening!’ ‘Are my powers evil, like they always said?’


When the rest of his family met for breakfast, they groaned at the absence of their two brothers. Pitch missing wasn’t completely strange, he missed meals often. But when he and Jack both were not there, it usually meant that they were preparing a prank.

Their concern for pranks was soon wiped from their thoughts when they saw their father’s face as he entered.

“Father, what is the matter?” Asked Toothiana. She was the only daughter of the royal family, and the youngest, next to Jack. She was 9 years of age, but wiser than most her age. She, like Jack, could control the wind. However, her control over it was far superior to Jack’s. She had long, waste length hair of a deep, rich brown color. Her eyes were an unnatural, but very beautiful, amethyst. She was rather small in stature, but could talk more than anyone in the entire kingdom. Her nickname was Tooth, both because of her name and because of her strange fascination with teeth, even at her young age.

On her right was the eldest of the Lunanoff children, Sanderson. He was 17 years of age, a mere year older than Pitch, and heir to the throne of Kuu. -The kingdom was named for the moon. The moon was the center of life there, but I shall get to that later.- Sanderson was small, about the size of Tooth. He had a lively, golden complexion, and a mop of sandy-golden colored hair. His eyes were a brownish-gold. His physique was a bit rounded.

Like his siblings, he too had powers. He controlled light and dreams. His specialty was more dreams than light, though he could bend and create it. It took the staff years to become accustomed to him randomly glowing. He had been nicknamed Sandy, mainly because he created his dreams using what he called ‘dreamsand’.

The most important thing one must know about him was that he was mute. He always carried a small book and ink pot with him, and had to write anything he wanted to say.

He and Pitch were complete opposites in nearly every way. Pitch was tall and thin, he was short and rounded. He was light, Pitch was shadows. He was dreams, Pitch was nightmares. He was kind, Pitch was narcissistic. He preferred company, Pitch preferred solitude. Well, both had exceptions to that rule, but still. They did not get along in the slightest. They had always been more like enemies than brothers. Pitch was the one person missing from the list of people that Sandy was unconditionally sweet to.

That being said, next to Pitch, Sandy was the closest to Jack. Because of this, the two had been on civil terms recently.

On Tooth’s left was their other brother. His full name was Aster Bunnymund Lunanoff, but most called him either Aster or Bunny. He was tall and sturdily built, especially for only being 13 years of age. After spending several summers in a distant kingdom undergoing military training -The program was designed to start teaching princes how to fight at a young age, so that it was a part of life for them, and not something new to them when they were older and received more training at the traditional age.- he had picked up a strong accent. He had a fiery temper, and often spoke things he regretted. His hair was an unnatural grayish-blue color, and his eyes strikingly green.

Next to Sandy, Bunny hated Pitch more than just about anyone else. He believed him to be a lying, cheating, despicable person. Unlike the rest of his family, he did not particularly like his youngest brother, Jack, either. The pranks and ‘cute’, ‘childish’ things that he did were very frustrating to Bunny. He could be rather harsh and sharp with Jack. Despite this, Bunny refused to tolerate anyone else, beside himself, being the slightest bit unkind to the boy. He couldn’t stand that Jack and Pitch were so close and spent so much time together.

Bunny didn’t spend much time with Jack himself, even when given opportunity, because of Bunny’s powers. Bunny controlled plants, and adored nature. Unlike Jack, who loved winter, spring was Bunny’s signature season. Warmth and color were up his alley- not snowball fights and iceskating.

“There has been an incident this morning involving Jack and Pitch.” Their father’s announcement drew instant reactions from all three children present. Tooth disliked Pitch like her brothers, and adored Jack. She knit her brow, her face a mix of anger and worry. Sandy and Bunny were simply furious. They didn’t wait for King Lunar to say that Pitch had done something; they just automatically assumed so.

King Lunar’s expression saddened more at his children’s reactions. He knew their dislike for Pitch, and found it disappointing. He loved Pitch as much as all of his children. He could never quite grasp just why Pitch was hated, either. Were his powers really that important to them? He had never- never– done anything more than pull a simple prank. He loved to scare his siblings and the staff, but had never caused a single one of them actual harm. Nor had he ever intended to.

“They were playing as normal, when Pitch inadvertently struck Jack with his powers.” Bunny leaped from his seat in anger, but the king did not give him time to speak before continuing. “Jack will be fine by morning. He is locked in a nightmare right now, and we must let it run its course. He will be good as new when it is over. Because Pitch was not trying to hurt him, he will forget about the events that occur in his nightmare.”

“That sick-” Bunny began, but King Lunar cut him off once more.

“It was not done on purpose.”

“Said who? Pitch?! Why would you trust tha word of that lia’?!” Bunny yelled. He stormed out of the room, quickly followed by his siblings. Tooth and Sandy normally wouldn’t leave without first being excused… but they forgot their manners as they jumped up and followed Bunny.

King Lunar shook his head. Someday. Someday they would understand. He was a wise man, and knew no little amount of magic. But there was nothing that he could do to make his children see reason. He would just have to wait for them to understand on their own.


Locked in his room, Pitch was trying to calm himself down. He had managed to force the shadows back to their correct places, and had cleaned himself up, so that there was no evidence of him ever having cried. He was 16 years of age: He was far too old to cry.

Pitch heard a hard knock on his door. He straightened himself, pulled back his shoulders, and walked to the door. He opened it, looking as princely as one can in their nightclothes, but before he could register who was at the door, he found himself roughly hitting the floor.

His head span from its impact on the floor, but the haze soon faded enough for him to hear yelling and recognize the voice. Aster. Dread filled Pitch from head to toe. Aster. Aster.

“You monster! You bloody monster! He adores you! An’ what do you do? You hurt him! At least maybe now Jackie’ll understand how terrible you are!” A blunt object made impact with Pitch’s ribcage, and he buckled from the pain. A fist slammed into the left side of his jaw, just barely not too hard to cause him to lose consciousness.

Pitch felt a hand lift him from the floor by his neck. Then his back made him aware that he had been thrown into a wall.

He had lost his eyesight upon realizing who had entered his room; he was too disoriented. But when Pitch felt a foot impact his ribs before he had even fallen to the floor after hitting the wall, something inside him snapped.

His vision cleared, and his eyes narrowed at the enraged figure before him. He may only be 13, but Aster was big for his age, and far fiercer and better trained than Pitch. Pitch had never had an interest in warfare.

Eyes locked with his brother, Pitch silently began to give his shadows commands. A thin band of shadows slithered across the floor and wrapped tightly around Aster’s ankle.

Pitch and Aster’s eye contact was broken as Aster looked down in shock. The shadows gave a tug, and sent Aster crashing to the floor on his face. Pitch didn’t notice Tooth or Sandy standing, shocked, in the doorway staring at them. Pitch’s gaze was fixed on Aster as he darkly glared at him. Making a snap decision, Pitch willed the shadowy rope to drag Aster out of the room, before he commanded another clump of shadows to close the door.

The unlocked door was immediately opened, but Pitch created enough shadows over it for the people trying to open it to be unable to overpower them and get in.

He pulled himself up off the floor, trying his hardest to ignore the splitting pain from his likely broken ribs and badly bruising jaw. His back hurt too, just not near as badly.

Pitch’s mind whirled. ‘What have I done?’ Or more importantly, ‘What can I do now?’

Suddenly, something happened that would change the course of Pitch’s life. A new voice suddenly spoke in his mind. ‘Run awayyyy,‘ it hissed. ‘Leave thisss placccce.’ Pitch did not have any idea what this voice was or how it got into his head, but those really weren’t his greatest worries at the present moment.

After a moment’s thought, Pitch did what would really actually change his life. He followed the voice’s advice.

He grabbed several things he thought he could use, and changed his clothing. Then Pitch shadow-traveled out of his bed quarters. But before he left the palace; his home; he stopped by one room. The room where Jack lay.

Pitch walked up to his brother’s bed, lightly kissed the young child’s forehead, whispered to him something the sleeping boy couldn’t hear, and, with one last glance over his shoulder, Pitch left the castle that had housed generations of Lunanoffs. He planned on never returning, though he didn’t know where he would go.


With the disappearance of Pitch began a very troublesome time for this small kingdom. The great Golden Age of prosper and glory that had been in Kuu for so long ended with the whispered words from Prince Pitch to his brother Prince Jack.

“I am so sorry for everything that I will do from today on. But never forget that you, my dear brother, shall always hold in my heart a very special place.”

Lillies

Pure and whole, whitewashed soul, wishes pull, hopes are null. Dancing fairies, poison berries. Missing merries burden carries.
Glistening drop, glittering plop, cerulean hop, bubbles that pop. Pellucid lives in prismatic hives of ub’quitous eyes with ethereal lies.
Delicate diamonds drop to their deaths as arrogant anthropoids watch.

The Yawning

There are diamonds in the sky.
They’re rough as loss and sharp as pain.
Shining pricks of luminescence
winking down at you.
You see them vacuuming sound all around–seconds, minutes, hours, years.
Time isn’t master anymore.

You’re all right.
There’s no rust.
Just papercuts from the sights and sounds.
You’re a dime tossed in the universe.
It’s still slowing, gonna stop: Suddenly, with lots of warning, but no one will see it coming.
You’re a wall erect with bricks of dust.
You’re silken steel.
Your hands can’t hold more knowledge, but reality is rippling and the books keep piling up.

White socks are stark against the ink as the dream relieves the pain,
streaks of ice ab aeterno running through your hair.

You’re a tiny dot on a forgotten page of the endless books of time.