One of the house

I can see the noise frightens her.

She's learning to escape, with every gust of wind that tempts her to beyond. Only, she doesn't do it very well, so, occasionally, she rages. Puckers her lips to the railing and bellows into the wind, in the wake of death machines. She doesn't know. And one day, she will forget to ask.

Is she aware nobody minds her, and does it make her feel any less safe than she already is? A ghost inside a foreign house, a neighboring guest on this stowaway planet. She ain't sure what she's doing here. Hasn't been here long enough to learn how to do it well.

There's people around her, only they don't mind the noise much. To them, it's just another language of the house. They may, from time to time, frown, but they never press their lips to the bars and scream for quiet. In ways, she understands the urban madnness of the house better than they ever will.
But she will forget, with time.

She isn't the only One of the house, so she's not quite sure what that makes her. Two, for her, becomes an alien concept, though perhaps that could explain this perennial unsafety. How flowers know to bloom in unfortunate environments. Threat means whither, but it can also sometimes mean survive. If the roots are mean enough.

Her secret is, she doesn't know how to survive. Exists all her life under the shadow of a terrifying, skinhead giant, and him, the only one remotely knowledgeable as to what her cries mean. She's screaming bloody murder now. Sounds like injured dogs whimpering in the rain. Tough love. If she's not careful, she'll make the trees bloom again, and then, they'll have no choice but to come back and torment her. There's things in the shape of nightmares that wait at the foot of the bed. There's the snores of a Gargantuan woman, nursemaid understander of all things bolted, and deafened - willfully - to cries of lingering Pantagruel.

She is not the first of the house, though with each day that passes, her sister becomes a little less. Not exactly a replacement child, but came too soon, came when there was still a hollow inside her mother's belly, so now, she's a girl frightened of loud noise, and things too rooted in the real world, 'cause she never got a chance to be.

She cries. She buries her nose into the potted gardenias. Retches at the scent of dirt, and all things misbelonging to her self.Then, just as swift as it came, the noise dampens. The old clock in the square at the end of their forlorn valley tolls lunch time. She must eat. Needs strength for her dreaming. Down the street, the noise stops to eat also, lend strength to its bellows.

Above, the giant smokes. He's run out of things to eat, but when he's finished the pack, he'll sit down at his desk once more, and write today's entry in his little girl's lost screams journal.

It's Tuesday. You know I need little platters to offer you music on. Sorry for any oddities you may encounter. Hi, @ablaze. :)

Easily one of my favorite takeaways from the Back to the Beginning show. What a talented young man. :)

We're not sick
But we're not well

There will come a time when I don't like a Shinedown track, but I'm guessing it's a long time away.

What are you listening to?