cypher_can_fly: (owen: 100% okay)
[personal profile] cypher_can_fly
Owen hadn't moved from the floor of his room since Thursday. Not that Thursday mattered. Not that Owen mattered.

Scales ran down his body, his eyes a matted black-and-silver. His knees were knobbly and gnarled and tipped with sharp edges but he didn't notice - they were folded under him, keeping him seated. Did the claws on his feet bite into his legs, the sharp tips of his nails dig into the flesh of his arm? Maybe.

It didn't matter. It was all just input.

It was 17 degrees celsius. 17.5. A breeze across the east. A flower, dying. The poison, beautiful and sharp, crept through a hundred flows, ground water, lakes, the ocean, the onsen... A bird flew across the principal's tower while the poison burned, bearing N90W, no, 93W. A patch of grass straining against the wind. People, moving, shuffling, flying, maiming-- was that a person? Was it a deer? He was sixteen. A frog rotted in the park. 17.6 degrees celsius. North-by-northwest. A flower, dying. The poison flowed. 17.4 degrees celsius. A bird--

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Owen Corley

June 2020

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