Every book that he’s ever read describes it as the taste of copper on your tongue.
What they don’t take into account is sweat and grime and something unerringly primal that overlays the metallic. It is satisfying in the basest of ways.
He wipes away the thin trickle at the side of his mouth and spits to the side. More blood fills his mouth and he rolls it across his tongue, feels it mingle with phlegm and warm to a feverish temperature.
The wolf lies not ten paces before him, eyes closed and body limp as if in the throes of a lazy summer nap. Ochre creeps across the sticky asphalt to lap at the tips of his boots. He takes a step forward and grinds it into the dust and road grit until it’s impossible to tell if it was ever there at all.
He closes his eyes, tilts his head back and lets the bloody ooze burn down his throat. The cool void waits for him, seductive. He knows that a mere thought will call the vision forward and allow him to study it, bask in the certainty and purpose it gives to him.
When he opens his eyes again several moments later nothing mars the shimmering black expanse aside from the never-ending broken yellow line that directs him to the place where sky meets land.
Not a cloud in the sky nor a breeze in the air nor another pair of eyes to mark his passing. Only the dusty, majestic cornrows and the open road. The taste lingers on his palate just as he knows a man with devil eyes watches from afar.
Jake blows hair the color of angels’ out of his eyes, places one foot in front of the other and is on his way.
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Jake Chambers of <lj comm=milliways_bar>
Date: 2005-04-20 12:27 am (UTC)What they don’t take into account is sweat and grime and something unerringly primal that overlays the metallic. It is satisfying in the basest of ways.
He wipes away the thin trickle at the side of his mouth and spits to the side. More blood fills his mouth and he rolls it across his tongue, feels it mingle with phlegm and warm to a feverish temperature.
The wolf lies not ten paces before him, eyes closed and body limp as if in the throes of a lazy summer nap. Ochre creeps across the sticky asphalt to lap at the tips of his boots. He takes a step forward and grinds it into the dust and road grit until it’s impossible to tell if it was ever there at all.
He closes his eyes, tilts his head back and lets the bloody ooze burn down his throat. The cool void waits for him, seductive. He knows that a mere thought will call the vision forward and allow him to study it, bask in the certainty and purpose it gives to him.
When he opens his eyes again several moments later nothing mars the shimmering black expanse aside from the never-ending broken yellow line that directs him to the place where sky meets land.
Not a cloud in the sky nor a breeze in the air nor another pair of eyes to mark his passing. Only the dusty, majestic cornrows and the open road. The taste lingers on his palate just as he knows a man with devil eyes watches from afar.
Jake blows hair the color of angels’ out of his eyes, places one foot in front of the other and is on his way.