Feb. 18th, 2014

Spring

Feb. 18th, 2014 07:43 pm
toxicodendron_radicans: (Almost Friendly)
Death came and she was replanted. Everything feels alien, yet she knows the names of the sounds, the words to decribe the stench in the air. She knows she is hunted. She cannot remember if she had any benefactors.

She wandered to a place called Sea Til. Some of the streets looked right. It smelled better than here. But it didn't feel right. She had acclimated to a new climate and she let the tar and stone ribbons through America take her here as if lured by some migratory instinct.

And so she sits on a bench in what she knows to be Robinson Park in some fiefdom named "Gotham," covered from the rain and the sun as to not be cased from this place until she understands why she is here.

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toxicodendron_radicans

February 2014

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