TheTeenFox

We are not yet dead, but the scientists and philosophers would have you believe that we are dying. We have rehearsed the methods of our creation. We make muses from nature and from each other. We assume, like the canyon's high-water mark, that the floods will not come. Who am I to say that this is false, that we have little particles that hold us apart- (we are ever so slightly levitating off the ground and from each other.) And the streets protest by rehearsing the methods of our end. When our blood turns to alcohol and the first thing they see of us is the white of our bones.

It had been three weeks since Loki had been here. I jerked from my sleep, panting from the nightmare memory of getting burned alive, sitting up and running my hand over my scared flesh. I glanced at the alarm clock, groaning and throwing the covers back. “Damn it… it’s only two…” I sighed, standing and walking into the bathroom. I started running some cold water, splashing my face and shuddering. “Just once I’d like to sleep through the night…” “I wish that as well… you woke me…” I heard Loki growl from my bed, causing me to jump and flip the  lights on, yankin