close your eyes.
i'm whispering in your ear: close your eyes.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
the life icelandic
imprisoned, as it were:
frozen in ice, a living glacier melting in increments infinitesimal,
and sliding slowly toward the ledge at the bottom.
I didn't realize this was so hard, he says. i didn't know it'd be this way.
i didn't know.
she snorts, wipes her mouth, gives him a look-
you thought you'd leave here the way you came?
Nobody does that. Nobody does what you've done and survives it intact.
You were stupid if that's what you thought, she tells him, flicking the needle with the tips of her curved aristofingers. You're an idiot.
He watches the bright glinting silver disappear into the river beneath her surface, watches the way her face becomes a projector, throwing transparent images of disgust (she never liked needles, he remembered), of the confused moment before the final burst of euphoria, like an orgasm ripened too long in the sun; she sighs, her head falling back, and her mouth slackens into an imitation of a smile. She was never good at smiling, jaded like a New York City native.
she offers him the sheet of glass; he declines, glancing out the window.
i wanted to marry him, he whispers, almost to himself. i wanted to be with him.
she gives a halfhearted imitation of a drunk's guffaw.
like I...ssssaid, she slurs.
you're an idiot.
it's an age-old lesson. everybody knows, except maybe you-
nobody who falls in love climbs out alive.
he glances at her, about to contradict with examples of passionate relationships he could never dream of having for himself. instead he takes the needle she is still holding out between her cigarette fingers.
well, he says as he flexes his arm. well.
i thought i could be the first.
she blinks at him. her eyes are glazed over now. it's more excitement than she's ever shown sober.
her mouth opens and a stone sentence drops: You were wrong.
he nods, tightens the tourniquet.
Yeah, he says, positioning the needle.
I know.
The needle disappears beneath his skin.
frozen in ice, a living glacier melting in increments infinitesimal,
and sliding slowly toward the ledge at the bottom.
I didn't realize this was so hard, he says. i didn't know it'd be this way.
i didn't know.
she snorts, wipes her mouth, gives him a look-
you thought you'd leave here the way you came?
Nobody does that. Nobody does what you've done and survives it intact.
You were stupid if that's what you thought, she tells him, flicking the needle with the tips of her curved aristofingers. You're an idiot.
He watches the bright glinting silver disappear into the river beneath her surface, watches the way her face becomes a projector, throwing transparent images of disgust (she never liked needles, he remembered), of the confused moment before the final burst of euphoria, like an orgasm ripened too long in the sun; she sighs, her head falling back, and her mouth slackens into an imitation of a smile. She was never good at smiling, jaded like a New York City native.
she offers him the sheet of glass; he declines, glancing out the window.
i wanted to marry him, he whispers, almost to himself. i wanted to be with him.
she gives a halfhearted imitation of a drunk's guffaw.
like I...ssssaid, she slurs.
you're an idiot.
it's an age-old lesson. everybody knows, except maybe you-
nobody who falls in love climbs out alive.
he glances at her, about to contradict with examples of passionate relationships he could never dream of having for himself. instead he takes the needle she is still holding out between her cigarette fingers.
well, he says as he flexes his arm. well.
i thought i could be the first.
she blinks at him. her eyes are glazed over now. it's more excitement than she's ever shown sober.
her mouth opens and a stone sentence drops: You were wrong.
he nods, tightens the tourniquet.
Yeah, he says, positioning the needle.
I know.
The needle disappears beneath his skin.
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