An overpowering smell of detergent tickled your nose. Straightening your back from your previous slouching posture, you stretched and made a weird noise of satisfaction. A completed piece of algebra assignment lay neatly on the table in front of you, and you scanned the page contentedly. That strong detergent smell was still irritating your nose. You got up, about to go hunt for the culprit of the detergent malfunction when your phone dinged.
Who crawls through someone’s window at 1am for ice cream?
I’m so sorry for the delay on this blue but today I got hit with some inspiration for this one so here you go!! thanks for the prompt <3
Mikleo climbed up the stairs to his room, careful not to step on the spots where he knew the wood would creak when too much weight was placed on it. It wasn’t so late as to earn him a scolding from his uncle, but if he were honest…
He didn’t want to answer the questions from either him nor his mother.
They would want to know how it went.
Mikleo made it to his room and carefully, slowly, shut the door. Then promptly leaned against it and sank to the floor, head in his hands.
It went terribly.
He berated himself, as he had been doing the moment Sorey had wished him goodnight on his doorstep. The moment he leaned in for a kiss and Mikleo dodged it, stepping back into his open door and vanishing into the dark living room, away from the confused and hurt look Sorey cast him, away from the whisper of his name that was interrupted by the door closing.
He curled in on himself, tossing his phone and keys to the side. The whole night he had felt fear in his chest, worry that what they were doing, what they were trying, was something that couldn’t be reversed. It had plagued him and made him, if he were honestly reflecting, a terrible date.
He figured Sorey’s attempt at a kiss was merely him trying to salvage the night, and Mikleo wouldn’t have it. He wouldn’t have pity kisses to try to fix the fact they while they were best friends, they were compatible to date. Clearly. Mikleo’s own hesitations, fears, confidence…. Whatever it was, he didn’t see how he wouldn’t, in the end, make a mess of things. It was better to never go down that path, never know what they could have had, and instead leave things as they were. It was simpler, this way.
His only hope now was that they could move on from this disaster of a date and go back to being themselves.
He reflected back on the night and laughed through a choked sob he hadn’t realized would come, with tears he hadn’t expected. They had even planned the most awkward thing, like it was doomed from the start. A romantic dinner at a nice restaurant, that made Mikleo feel out of place and uncomfortable, walking past shops and other couples who were dressed so nicely, holding hands and softly kissing each other.
He had seen these people and known, known so much, that he wasn’t like them. But that was what Sorey wanted. What was why they were there, it was what he wanted to create…
The room was brightened by the moonlight coming through the open window. Mikleo crawled across the floor, unbuttoning the dress up shirt he had worn to try to release some of the tension from his throat. He got into bed, but didn’t go under the covers, just clung one of his many pillows and bite down to try to quell the tears that wouldn’t stop.
He had wanted things to work so badly, but his mind had been so distraught at what could go wrong.
It was better this way…
He debated calling out sick from university on Monday. He needed some time before facing…well..everyone.
He was aware everyone knew what was happening. He could see it in their eyes the day before as he wished them a good weekend. Sorey had to have told them.
A sound echoed in the silence between his sniffling. Like a pebble hitting glass.
Must be the wind.
A few more sounds, but he didn’t pay it much more mind. The tree branches were probably hitting the window.
He managed to get himself to calm down, when he heard something else at the window.
He glanced up to see it opening more -
“What!” He sat up, clutching his pillow against his chest. Mikleo scooted backwards to put more distance between himself and…
“Sorey?!” His voice went up an octave annoyingly, his eyes widened, but there he was. Sorey, climbing through his window, a sheepish, wide grin on his face.
“Hey, Mikleo!” He stepped on the ground and crawled towards him, sitting on the edge of his low bed.
“Don’t say hi so casually! What are you doing?” He sunk away further. His eyes registered finally that Sorey had a small grocery bag with him.
“I’m sorry!! It’s just…” Sorey looked down at the bag. “I realize I messed up tonight. I wanted to make it up to you.”
Mikleo’s jaw hung open. “You…you? What about me? I’m a mess–”
“I put so much pressure on this! On us!” Sorey interrupted, moving an inch closer.
Mikleo’s back was against the wall. He couldn’t move anywhere else.
“I just thought. First dates were supposed to be a certain thing. And I realized, halfway through the night, that they don’t need to be fancy. Or special, or different. Mikleo, I should have planned something that’s us. That’s why I messed up.”
Mikleo licked his lips but wasn’t sure what to say, except… “It was pretty awkward.”
“Right?!” Sorey sighed and dramatically collapsed forward. His hands stretched out and nearly grazed Mikleo’s calf. “I’m so stupid.”
“Listen, Sorey, it’s…it’s alright. It’s probably for the best, anyhow.” Mikleo shoved his face into his pillow. He hadn’t been prepared to talk about this so soon, the feelings still so fresh.
“No, it’s not!” Sorey’s voice was even closer, and when Mikleo lifted his head he was met with those bright green eyes shimmering so close. His body leaned against Mikleo’s legs, now.
“So I’m here to make it up to you.”
“Sorey, aren’t you listening to me–” His words died in his throat as Sorey pulled up from the bag a carton of ice cream and a box of cones.
“You and I, we don’t need fancy dinners and long walks.” Sorey spoke as he opened the cones, pulled open the lid to the ice cream. He scooped out some and dropped it on the cone, handing it to Mikleo. When their eyes met as he took it, their fingers brushed and Mikleo felt heat rushing through his body, starting from his chest and burning through his cheeks. He could have sworn, even in the dim light, that Sorey’s cheeks were tinted red.
“We just need each other. That’s what matters.” Sorey whispered and got his own cone of ice cream. He pushed everything else off the bed and sat back against the wall so their shoulders touched.
“I can’t believe you…” Mikleo said under a laugh as he shyly took a bit of ice cream.
“What?” Sorey smiled, leaning his head against the wall and staring..staring at Mikleo.
“You! Who crawls through someone’s window at 1am for…for ice cream?” He couldn’t help smiling back despite how much he was also in shock that Sorey was there, that this was happening, after the night they had.
“Mmm,” Sorey moved closer, chin grazing Mikleo’s shoulder. “I guess I do?”
Mikleo didn’t know what it was, but something pulled him forward to meet Sorey, their foreheads barely touching.
“Tch, you would,” Mikleo muttered, his ice cream forgotten when Sorey reached up and ran a hand through his hair. His fingers grazed the back of Mikleo’s neck and his eyes looked down at Mikleo’s lips.
It was a simple tilt of their chins, but that simple action also felt so much more as their lips met. The cold of the ice cream quickly gone as they warmed each other. It was a slow, chaste kiss. But it was also the most amazing thing Mikleo had ever felt.
He hadn’t even remembered closing his eyes. When he opened them, Sorey was watching him.
“Is this…okay?” Sorey whispered.
Mikleo studied him, eyes moving over his face. He let out a long breath and made his face serious. “You have a choice.”
“Eh?” Sorey sat up a little. “What choice?!”
“The ice cream,” Mikleo motioned with his chin to their starting to melt treats, “or another kiss.”
In a quick movement and with a shout, he was pulled off the wall and falling forward, Sorey beneath him and clinging to him as they moved on the bed. He wasn’t sure where the ice cream ended up, that was for morning Mikleo to handle, because all he could focus on in that moment was Sorey’s hands pulling on his hair gently and lips kissing him, and their breaths against each other with open mouths. Mikleo gripped Sorey’s broad shoulders and their legs tangled as they aligned themselves more comfortably, bodies pressed so close Mikleo wondered if this was a dream. He would wake up in the morning alone and with this dream as a reminder of what he could have had.
“Mikleo,” Sorey gasped out, and Mikleo lifted his head and braced himself up with one hand on the bed. This felt too real. It had to be…
“Sorey?” Was this it, if this was real was Sorey not feeling what he felt, was he realizing his mistake–
“I really want to date you.” His hands moved to Mikleo’s chest, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling at the edges where it was unbuttoned.
The last bit of tension in his mind lifted away from him as Mikleo bent down. He let his lips rest just barely over Sorey’s as he spoke, so quietly he wasn’t sure Sorey would even hear, but really he hoped that the kiss that would follow would be enough to give his answer, in the end.
The rain is nice, you try to convince yourself as you drum your fingers on the edge of the bench. The rain is nice. It smells clean and brings with it a refreshing breeze, filling the bus shelter with the scent of a crisp spring day. Maybe if you take a deep breath, you can pretend that you’re a tulip in the middle of an April shower. Maybe if you close your eyes and let your mind wander, it will feel something like getting hit by a playful ocean spray.
But you don’t. Instead you choose to glance at the glass wall on your left. It’s plastered with raindrops, some fat, some minuscule, all of them gliding down the glass in a race to drown the earth. There has always been something calming about the sight of it- raindrops, you discovered early on in your life, have a therapeutic quality to them- but today, you find yourself scowling savagely at the scene because no, the rain is not nice. It is not a spring day and there is no playful ocean. It’s almost winter and it’s fucking freezing. The rain is positively pouring down, your clothes are sticky from the droplets, and yet somehow, despite the miserable situation screaming at you otherwise, you’re still here on the bench after forty-five long minutes of waiting.
Really though, to be dead honest, this whole saga about Han Solo reflects terribly on Phil Lord and Chris Miller’s professionalism (or apparent lack thereof).
Say what you will about the mentality behind these kind of big budget franchise pictures, at the end of the day, Lord and Miller worked for Kennedy and Kasden. Lawrence Kasden wrote the screenplays for The Empire Strikes Back and The Force Awakens, along with at least a dozen other screenplays, and the screenplay to Han Solo, and therefore his frustration at their apparent disregard of his work is justified. I know that I wrote a screenplay, for a character I knew very well, and the n had some guys come in, toss it out and start improvising entirely new stuff (stuff that apparently was changing the very fabric and tone of the film’s narrative), I’d get rightly pissed off to.
And then, when Lord and Miller were told to try and get at least 12 or 15 set ups ready for filming a day (which is very much standard on this sort of big budget movie), they only managed to get 2 or 3 set ups ready, and only shoot with one camera, when this kind of film usually requires at least four or more, in order to get the right amount of coverage. That’s insanely inefficient, and above all, expensive, since you’re basically paying the cast and crew to sit around, while Lord and Miller go noodling and twiddling around.
And lastly, you have to come to the acknowledgement that in the end, this isn’t the same kind of movie as 21 Jump Street or The Lego Movie. This isn’t something more or less entirely new, but rather something connected to a firmly established canon and tone, and so you can’t just go and play with it willy nilly, you have to, for better of or for worse, submit to what your boss is asking you to do, since you are for hire, Lord and Miller. You were picked for this, you didn’t pick it. You are an employee, and you gotta learn to submit, and compromise.
Also, you know stuff must have been bad when the entire crew apparently cheered when they announced Ron Howard was gonna replace Lord and Miller. Imagine, Lord and Miller got so bad that they cheered when you got replaced.
The bath is waiting and ready, but just like every time before,
the reflection in the full-length mirror beside the tub stares back at you like
a haunting nightmare. Constant self-loathing and self-consciousness eats away
at your mind every waking moment, and Jimin, the blessing that he is, can
always diminish those thoughts and make you feel like nothing less than
perfection. But days like today in his absence are the most difficult, as you
are left to fight your demons alone.
You loath the fact that the mirror is there, but it was Jimin’s
suggestion that through constant exposure to your body, you might find love for
What a load of
shit. You thought, nervously tugging at the loose hem of your shirt.
Prompto and Noct stay up late playing video games much to Ignis's dismay and hatred.
Here’s another 400-follower drabble. Thank you for the prompt! It was a lot of fun to write. :)
Of Late Nights and Early Mornings
the key into Noct’s door at 6 am sharp, and he already knows how the morning
will play out.
straight to Noct’s bedroom and open the door, then pull back the covers. It
won’t be enough to wake him, but it will be enough to start the incremental
process that comprises the crown prince’s morning routine.
the curtains to let in the light, then move Noct’s pillow out of reach when he
attempts to bury his head.
After that, Ignis
will pick up a bit in the living room before he starts the waffles. The smell
drifting in through the open doorway sometimes helps to coax Noct out of bed,
and if he slips blueberries into the batter, His Highness will have eaten fruit
If the smell
doesn’t rouse him, Ignis will return to the bedroom for some hands-on
encouragement. After Noct’s washed his face and slid into his chair, still
half-awake, Ignis will present him with a plate of waffles and a cup of
extra-strong coffee, then brief him on the meeting he’s scheduled for at 9
It’s a very
entirely off the rails when he opens the apartment door and hears noises coming
from the living room.
of a half-dozen possible explanations in the fifteen seconds it takes him to approach
the source of the sounds. Most of them are pessimistic; one includes the
possibility of kidnappers, caught in the act of absconding with the crown
Not a one of
them includes Noct, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his couch,
which is what he finds.
there, too, and the both of them are bleary-eyed but grinning. The proof of
their evening is strewn about on the floor: two empty bags of chips; a pack of
playing cards that no one has bothered to put away; three cans of soda and a
half-empty cup of something that looks like iced tea. They’ve dragged the
bedding from Noct’s room out to pile it on the floor, creating a sort of
makeshift nest. On the screen before them, four tiny figures struggle against a
doesn’t even leave the television. “Morning, Specs.”
eyes flicker his way. He has the grace to look guilty, at least.
“Uh,” he says. “Hi, Ignis.”
morning,” says Ignis, crisply. “Shall I make extra coffee?” He
checks the time on his phone. “We’ll need to be walking out the door in
one hour and forty-five minutes, if we hope to make your 9 o'clock engagement,
Noct grimaces. This time, he glances Ignis’ way.
“That was today?”
Ignis resists the urge to say something sharper.
"Well,” says Prompto, with a forced
little laugh. “Look at that. There goes my last life. Guess I’ll leave you
guys to it, huh?”
When he goes to stand, Noct catches at his arm. He
says something that Ignis can’t hear under the music from the video game. On
screen, the last of the men, the one with the sword, goes down.
GAME OVER, says the television.
“Prom’s gonna stay for breakfast,” says
Noct, though the look on Prompto’s face says, very clearly, that he did not in
fact agree to stay for breakfast.
“No, it’s cool,” says Prompto.
“Really. Lemme get out of your hair." He scoops up his phone,
cramming it into his pocket, and rises from the nest of blankets.
Noct has a look on his face now, some strange
amalgam of distressed and pleading. He fixes it on Ignis as Prompto makes for
Ignis sighs. He says, "I was planning to make
waffles. You’re fond of blueberries, aren’t you, Prompto?”
Prompto hesitates in the doorway. He glances back
at Noct, and then at Ignis, as though he’s searching for something. He says,
“I could make the coffee? Or set the table or something.”
“Thank you,” says Ignis. “That would
be much appreciated.”
It’s terribly unfair, Ignis reflects. It’s almost
impossible to stay annoyed, with the force of both their smiles fixed on him
We faced some heavy bearding last month and it continues to be so. In real life we are deprived of J2 selfies and Gennnel and het pics (that pic of J/D where Jen looks sad af) shoved down our throats while on the show, less and less sam and dean broments with side character overload. Why is this happening?
wow jensen looks so still in this pic, danneel needs to drop the filters lol. what i love about jensen and danneel is that they look like the most perfect prom king and queen from all the american tv shows ever like that’s all i think about when i see them: ken and barbie, hollywood fakeness, america lol and the funniest thing is the huge elephant in the room of jensen being gay and ruining this perfect
traditional christian family image, they would be so perfect in desperate housewives honestly but anyway
as far as the show is concerned, i think it was to give time to j2 for the babies’ births but i guess you can make a correlation between sam and dean’s relationship and j2 because last season they were a lot of good moments between them and 2015/2016 was the year where j2 were the most open about the time they spend together on social media and this season sam and dean are barely emotionnally connected just like jared and jensen’s social media show a terribly bland reflection of what they truly mean to each other
but all that was expected, all the het/family pics are NORMAL.
It is what it is. when you’re bearding and you have new babies with your beard, that’s what happens: your sm becomes a het show (especially when one of the beards is starting her career and needs your fame and the other beard doesn’t want to get left behind and suddenly starts to post tons of het pics at the same time) and you stop showing everyone that you spend all your free time with your boyfriend since you’re supposed to be with your kids and wife
i don’t know how long this is gonna last but they’re gonna keep this rythm for a while
why is this happening? well life sucks pal, and homophobia is a thing and it’s unfair and PR are feeling zealous i guess but there’s nothing we can do about it
i’m personally not really affected by all that because im still so stuned by all the date nights j2 had last month and this amazing convention where j2 were so REAL and true and they didn’t talk about their wives and then jared telling us he spent easter night with jensen and the kids and i just didn’t think we would get that much j2 in those times of heavy bearding so im really optimistic because it could have been way worse
so really just hold on, it’s gonna pass and j2 will go back to their usual self and enjoy the cons, all the 2017 conventions were great and show how perfect j2 are together still after all this time
Our new model, Sybil Lakestone-Atke, will be partaking our current project, Lost Eyes! This project is a tribute to Sybil, as well as displaying our new summer line! All proceeds from Lost Eyes will be donated to the less fortunate with disabilities. Come buy this summer at a store near you!
“Inspired by the Devil’s Iron, Samael, Angel of Death, designed the terrible gun’s holy reflection. From the melted down halos of martyred angels he made a silver revolver, forged in the Light of Creation and left to cool in the Waters of Life. The grip was carved from white oak sanctified with the tears of saints, bearing a humble bronze crucifix made by a blind and dying Templar of the Last Crusade. It was borne on the backs of cherubs through the Spheres of Heaven so that it could be marked with the celestial names of all Seven Archangels, blessed by the Choir Seraphs, and warded against evil by the Erelim, Protectors of the Throne. Once it was finished its chambers were loaded with nails from the True Cross and the warrior Michael was chosen to test fire the gun. Their Father’s Champion declared it a weapon without equal, capable of felling even the Devil Himself.”
I just read wuthering heights & I really don't get the hype about the "romance??" Like I started reading thinking that there were gonna be moments that make me weak but it doesn't show how heathcliff & cathy become obsessed w each other. It just shows their unhealthy obsession, w them always just hurting each other while declaring they can't live w/o each other. Idk I was disappointed & the souls line that i liked before now seems not as gr8
Wuthering Heights is a masterpiece and easily one of my favourite books, but oh my goodness it is NOT a romance in the traditional sense and you cannot approach it the same way you would approach, say, a Jane Austen novel. This is Gothic fiction at its finest and most chilling.
Unfortunately, it is marketed to the world as a romance and productions and adaptations inevitably portray it as this great romance with Heathcliff as the brooding Byronic hunk, leading to the dissonance and confusion that you are experiencing. What kills me is that a lot of productions don’t even bother with the second half of the book, they just tell this contrived, inaccurate love story between Catherine and Heathcliff, but honestly, if you don’t tell the second half of the story, there is no point to your adaptation, like you could not fuck up any worse.
Wuthering Heights is all about the cycles of abuse. Heathcliff is a monster, a cruel and demonic figure, but he was not born bad. He suffers greatly in his early childhood, is adopted by Mr Earnshaw and finds solace in the company of Catherine. When Mr Earnshaw dies and his son Hindley takes over the Heights, he
abuses Heathcliff, sends him out of the house and forces him to labour in the
fields for his keep. Heathcliff endures unimaginable torments, but none of that
matters because he has Cathy, and she has him. They spend every waking moment
together, and every punishment they endure is forgotten when they’re in
each other’s company. They promise to grow up wild as savages and spend all their
time wandering together across the moors. Catherine and Heathcliff are two people bonded by obsession, isolation, trauma and abuse, and the savage wilderness of the moors becomes their sanctuary. At home by the fireside, where these children should by rights feel safe, there is nothing but fear and pain and abuse. Out on the moors, with only each other, there is safety. Preferable to heaven itself, the moors are their sanctuary.
Heathcliff and Cathy are both awful people, twisted by abuse and
mistreatment, and the line about sharing a soul is a terribly tragic
reflection of the fact that Catherine has only ever felt safe with
Heathcliff out on the moors. After Hindley’s wife dies giving birth to their son Hareton, Hindley
loses all self-control and goes mad with grief and anger. Nelly explicitly says “his
treatment [of Heathcliff] was enough to make a fiend of a saint.” Hard labour
and mistreatment makes Heathcliff lose interest in intellectual pursuits. At sixteen, his mind,
manners and appearance deteriorate, while Cathy becomes obsessed with the
glittering world of the sophisticated Lintons. She desires social advancement
and prestige, and despite considering herself to share a soul with Heathcliff,
she says it would degrade her to marry him, and so marries Edgar Linton
instead. Catherine is Heathcliff’s obsession and comfort; losing her causes him to devote himself to revenge. All the abuse and horror that was meted upon himself he inflicts upon others.
Years pass and Hindely, Catherine and Mr Linton all die. Heathcliff acquires the Heights and our original trio of Catherine, Linton and Heathcliff are replaced by a new generation of children: Cathy, Linton and Hareton. Heathcliff has gone from the abused to the abuser, and he takes his wrath out on all three children. In the case of Hareton, Bronte makes it explicitly clear that Heathcliff is taking vicarious revenge on Hindley by abusing the boy as Hindley abused him. He takes Hareton into his arms after his abusive father’s death and says, “Now, my bonny lad, you are mine! And we’ll see if one tree
won’t grow as crooked, with the same wind to twist it!” Every brutality and
indignity Hindley inflicted upon him, he inflicts on Hareton. He takes the
boy’s inheritance from him, treats him as a servant, beats him, and keeps him
Young Cathy ends up at the Heights and Heathcliff cannot abide her and abuses her without mercy, even though she is
the daughter of the woman he loves. At first, Cathy dislikes Hareton and
teases him for his stupidity. When she is imprisoned with Heathcliff and
suffering daily from his torments, Hareton tries to be kind to her, but she
rejects him, and takes out her anger and frustration on him. She becomes somewhat more attached to young Linton.
Haven’t we seen this all before? The wild, dumb, abused boy
and the girl he loves rejecting him because of his low station?
History is repeating itself. The cycles of abuse are being perpetuated through generations and these innocent children are all being made to suffer for the feud between their families. But things change, because even though these children have been abused, they choose not to perpetuate this abuse themselves. Hareton is perhaps the most important character of the book because he is meant to be a mirror of Heathcliff. Hareton has known nothing but violence and cruelty since he was born. He was beaten by his father and mistreated and kept dumb by Heathcliff. He suffers as Heathcliff suffered. Heathcliff even remarks, “Hareton seemed a
of my youth, not a human being.” But even despite all that, he sees young Cathy suffering and he chooses to be kind. Cathy rejects him at first, and is cruel to him, but she repents of her behaviour and sees that she was wrong to do so. She too rejects cruelty and chooses kindness. She extends friendship to Hareton. She teaches him how to read. They fall in love. These two young people live under the thumb of a tyrant and are in constant fear, but what makes them different, and what redeems them is that they refuse to act like their tormentor. Hareton suffered exactly as Heathcliff suffered, but where Heathcliff chose revenge, brutality and anger, Hareton chose kindness. He did not want others to suffer as he had suffered. He wanted to ease Cathy’s suffering because he knew what it was like to suffer, and that choice made all the difference.
People talk about how this book is awful and fiendish and unpleasant, but what’s even worse is that all the horrors of this book can only be blamed on plain human choice. It is a book about the cycles of violence. It is about how we inflict our suffering on others, and how the younger generation is forced to suffer for the mistakes of their parents. In one half of the book we watch two abused children, Heathcliff and Catherine, become obsessed with each other. They find solace and comfort in one another and prefer savagery and the wilderness of the moors because they found nothing but pain and torment in the “civilised” world. They are twisted into awful, cruel people. In the second half of the book, we watch two abused children find comfort and solace in each other, but the difference is they choose not to perpetuate the abuse they suffer. They choose to be kind. The relationship between Hareton and Cathy is the the great romance, and the great triumph, of this book. Whereas Catherine and Heathcliff are together in death, this new generation is united in life. They represent redemption, hope for the future. They break the cycles of violence and cruelty and their love ends the feud between their families. In the face of cruelty and suffering, they choose to love and they choose to be kind, and that takes the greatest courage of all. “They are afraid of nothing… together they would
brave Satan and all his legions.”
A perfect day to turn back to one’s self: these cold clarities which the sun projects like a judgment shorn of pity, over all creatures—enter through my eyes; I am illuminated within by a diminishing light.
Not the same anon but I agree with you about Kat and Paul in s8. I feel as if the acting reflected the terrible writing. By the end fans weren't paying attention to the story or acting but was sticking around to see who ended up with who. What a testament to Julie Plec's great show running. Do you think she has any regrets what so ever?
I don’t know, a part of me thinks she has many that she won’t admit to and a part of me thinks she’s too delusional for regrets.
Honeydew and balm. Roads tar-black, rolling in front of us, waves and waves of heat & mist. The sun, gold pouring across the plains. Sky an open palm, swallowing, cradling. Every night was wind, bonfire, looking into each other’s faces. No mirrors but a million reflections. I remember the night we thought we would die – lightning exploding in front of our faces, the rain luminescent, endless, everything cowered and small. In the afternoon, a boy stabbed a snake. The next day, we found a bloated frog in the pool. Every morning, the mosquitos loved us ferociously, kissed splotches into our brown skin. Cracks of light in the wet grass. The mountains bigger than our gods.