Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Slammed against the wall, she panted.

This would have been hot, she thought. But he was speaking in that language she couldn't understand. She wished she could learn that tongue just by tasting his sweat lining his lips, but it was still nothing. Empty words scattered with a salty flesh.

His words seemed to stick onto her and all around her, forming around her body, squeezing into her and grasping her throat. Something between a caress and a choke. The walls seemed to smear with his words, slowly at first, like thick paint mixed into a white clay. She could imagine his handprints pressed into the words drying on the walls, the patterns in his palms like snakeskin but his fingerprints like smooth seashells warmed against a rising tide.

The words seemed to come faster, quicker. They were dripping from the walls and ceiling now, like strawberry preserve mixed spilled into ocean water. And then just the ocean water. She could see the salt drying, star-like.

They finished and he began speaking normally, in the words she'd known since childhood, but she still barely understood.

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