by Mousen » 10/11/2014 2:41 PM
Atlas sat on the edge of the bed, watching Rexus for a moment or two before settling down. It took him awhile to get to sleep, and Atlas found himself drifting, not quite awake, not quite asleep. His thoughts were colouring his dreams, he found the tents of his father's circus outside of Rexus's house. Upon entering one of the tents, the inside of which looked more like his dressing room in the last theatre he'd played at, a fortune teller waved him over. Atlas didn't recognize her. Wordlessly, she handed him a tarot card, the Six of Swords. It crumpled to ash in his hands. Atlas would have apologized, but she'd already stabbed him.
Atlas opened his eyes, exhaling slowly through parched lips. He has a fever. No wonder his dream had been so weird. It was still dark outside, but his own sense of time told him that it was somewhere in the AM, maybe two, maybe three. He rolled over and tried to fall back to sleep. A couple of hours passed and Atlas would have found it difficult to say whether or not he'd actually fallen asleep during that time.
He looked at the ablie, apparently still fast asleep at the end of the bed. Gently, trying not to disturb him, Atlas swung himself out of bed, landing lightly on unsteady feet.
We’re all hysterical & going nowhere together.
C’mon rapture. Let’s go bedazzling.
Nothing gets futured without its own spitshine
& I’m already not not not not not not miraculous.