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Grace Hammond

Australia

These words
that are my own
Are my blood and
are my bones.

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Hues

December 17, 2015

PROMPT: FACT

3
Upon the tentative kiss of solar wind on the exterior of earth’s
magnetic field, a distortion occurs in our atmosphere which allows
remnants of the sun’s majestic rays to enter at the north and south
poles.

You have always despised the cold. The stinging way it clings to skin
with icy teeth and injects itself into the bloodstream. Your oversized
coat was what captured my deriding eye the day I had simply slipped
into a faded sweater. I gazed at you over my National Geographic as
you stood in the line, your left knee twitching sporadically. The
faintest of tremors peppered your voice as you ordered your double
shot short black, and I wondered if this was due to your delusional
perception of the cold or a nervous habit triggered by a compulsion
disorder. With fumbling fingers you grasped your coffee close to your
chest and began your shuffling dance through the decaffeinated crowd;
your limbs compressed and your features tense. I allowed my gaze to
linger wryly upon you as I sipped my skinny macchiato, and did not
flinch when your eyes flickered to meet the stare piercing through
your coat.

These exotically alien particles arouse our earthly gasses into a
dance of illumination and colour; a vibrant incandescence above all
those bound to their planet’s ground.

Your leg trembling rhythmically on the couch beside me at first
provoked the vein in my temple to pulsate with maddening aggression.
But over time your jitter has ingrained itself into my impression of
contentment. I began to notice that the sardonic arching of my eyebrow
had on you the effect of obligated self-evaluation, motivating a
slight relaxation in your quivering energy. You began to walk slower
to accommodate for my meandering sashay, and I grew fond of sprinkling
my dialogue intermittently with little praises. We learned ourselves
as we were with the other as we added their name to our individual
vocabularies.

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