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Post by birdie ♕ on Nov 7, 2013 11:42:22 GMT -8
CITY His penthouse and livelihood marks the city's skyline. He makes up the iconic, he stares at her lazily.
For once someone is as uninvested as her and it's refreshing. Almost perverse, but refreshing.
There's a pyramid of martini glasses, he lifts her up so that Noémi can pour wine into the top one because she likes to be outside of the box. It's a Bordeaux, and it falls and falls and falls into them all the way down. When he sets her back on the floor, Noémi runs her fingers around the mouths of several glasses until her fingertips look plump and bloody.
She licks the sweet wine off of her fingers while her eyes meet his, unspectacularly.
In the morning Noémi leaves with keys to a new, Bordeaux-red sports car. The two never speak again.
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Post by birdie ♕ on Nov 12, 2013 14:38:09 GMT -8
WASTE She's incredibly selfish - in the end, everyone is.
Noémi has a bad case because there's nothing to fill. She is selfish with no release - she doesn't even get to lick her wounds. She can't find the spot where she's aching. There's something like a sunburn, or maybe a scratch, or an abrasion, or a gaping wound that's slowly draining her of life as blood seeps into every fine dress she owns -
- it has to be something like that.
Noémi knows that no matter how far you walk, how far you travel, there will always be dark alleys with stray animal corpses, there will always be unturned stones. Noémi knows that everyone looks at her and understands that if not for her eyes, set like jewels in the sculpted stone of her face, the way her body looks cut straight from a magazine and placed on a gaudy collage; if not for that, she would be considered an absolute waste of life.
Quite right.
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Post by birdie ♕ on Nov 13, 2013 20:29:59 GMT -8
SMILE The scene opens on a fantasy.
They deliver their lines, "I do," respectively. Noémi of course, looks carved from marble, prettier than any catalog or editorial could boast. At least, that's what the stage directions say. Frank, well, he's modestly handsome in the tux and he searches her face carefully behind the transparent veil, as if it's an impenetrable wall instead of tulle.
There's an absent but omniscient director who watches sternly as the groom kisses Nae, as Frank holds his hand to her cheek delicately. The director nods; Good, careful, she's incredibly fragile in this state.
She looks down and smiles as Franklin watches, an unreadable look on his face. Is he worried? He studies her carefully.
Noémi smiles then, and it's incredibly because she's no longer acting. The way she smiles wasn't written down, but, you know, good, because she's always been awful at faking smiles - she chooses sardonic smirks any day. This is a smile that reaches her bashful eyes, dances on her flushed cheeks. It's warm and alive and so goddamned beautiful.
The manuscript ends as follows:
Now that he has finally caught her, Frank realizes he doesn't truly love the bride.
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Post by birdie ♕ on Nov 24, 2013 16:07:11 GMT -8
SHACKLES Loneliness she can bear.
She welcomes it with open arms, she makes her home comfortable for it. Loneliness sometimes overstays it's welcome, though. That's the slight problem, because Nae can't personally do anything about it. It either has to leave or someone has to chase it away.
Her bigger problem is trust, who comes in with the exterminator. The exterminator of loneliness can be cheerful and punctual when he leaves, or he can swing over your body like a guillotine at night. He can loom over your heart like prison bars during dinner. A bad exterminator is a pair of shackles, cuffing you to the bed.
Loneliness has one form, but whoever chases it away shifts and slips before her eyes. She never knows what the final outcome will be.
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