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Frequent Falling
More story. People seem to fall over rather a lot in my writing.
Footsteps on the floor. Heavy footsteps, but softened. They were sneaker footsteps; they came from big, heavy shoes with complicated features, striped in blue and white and with a lightning bolt on the side. The white parts were coated in dust. The knees above them were also dirty. They belonged to a young man with dirty blond hair who clearly lived for his basketball scholarship. His T-shirt read “Alpha Omega Beer Tour”. He stood in front of Theo, bouncing on his toes, and whistled.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My friends call me Hardy. You’re Theosophila. And Piri, was it? I’ve heard of you.”
“You should have. What are you doing here?”
“Capturing Cerberus.”
“That should be easy,” said Prue. “We already beat him up.”
The boy shrugged and looked back to Theo. “I guess I should let you out, huh?”
“Can you?”
“Sure.” He walked up to Theo’s chair, grabbed, and pulled. The stone crumbled like dry mud.
Theo twisted out of her chair and stood in the center of the room. Things had shifted slightly. The rock knew her by now, it wanted to move with her, to slide . . . The floor wiggled, like Jell-O. Something cracked.
“We have to get out of here,” Hardy insisted.
“But Prue--”
“The earth is shaking. They don’t want us here. We have to go.” He had her arm, and was pulling her to the door.
“But the stone is mine. Another minute--”
“We can’t. They’re gods.” His hand was like another set of manacles. He dragged her out of the room, down the endless corridors, outside. Theo went blindly. All she saw was the white stone, rising up about Prue’s chair.
They came out the back door, into the dry grass. “You’re hurting me,” said Theo.
The boy took his hand away. There were dark fingerprints on Theo’s skin. “Sorry.”
Theo traced the marks with her thumb, slowly. “Your hands are bigger than I thought.”
“Yeah. Lots of people say that.”
Theo tipped her head back and stared at the empty sky. “It’s so wonderful, just to feel my own body again.”
“Yeah?”
“I almost forgot how to move . . .”
“The stone didn’t bruise you, did it?”
“I heal fast. Even your marks don’t hurt any more.”
“Even like this?” He set his hand back around her arm, carefully. His fingers brushed their marks.
“It’s soft, after the stone.” Theo turned to face him, slowly. “I’m almost as tall as you.”
“Gosh. Almost no girls are.”
They were kissing. He was trying to kiss her lips one at a time, so that spit glopped around the outside of her mouth. Prue grasped the beer tour T-shirt in her left hand, pulling him toward her. Her breasts were squeezed against his chest, and his tongue was groping back into her mouth, pushing down. She stepped back, stumbling a little, felt her balance slip, and pulled harder on his shirt. All her weight went into it, so they stumbled together, falling. Meanwhile her right hand came up, to clutch at the back of his head, perhaps, drawing him closer-- and then she was on her back on the dead white grass, and Hardy was stretched across her, unconscious. Dead weight.
Theo always had a rock in her hand, when she wanted one.
She turned and ran back into the house, down the long corridors.
Footsteps on the floor. Heavy footsteps, but softened. They were sneaker footsteps; they came from big, heavy shoes with complicated features, striped in blue and white and with a lightning bolt on the side. The white parts were coated in dust. The knees above them were also dirty. They belonged to a young man with dirty blond hair who clearly lived for his basketball scholarship. His T-shirt read “Alpha Omega Beer Tour”. He stood in front of Theo, bouncing on his toes, and whistled.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My friends call me Hardy. You’re Theosophila. And Piri, was it? I’ve heard of you.”
“You should have. What are you doing here?”
“Capturing Cerberus.”
“That should be easy,” said Prue. “We already beat him up.”
The boy shrugged and looked back to Theo. “I guess I should let you out, huh?”
“Can you?”
“Sure.” He walked up to Theo’s chair, grabbed, and pulled. The stone crumbled like dry mud.
Theo twisted out of her chair and stood in the center of the room. Things had shifted slightly. The rock knew her by now, it wanted to move with her, to slide . . . The floor wiggled, like Jell-O. Something cracked.
“We have to get out of here,” Hardy insisted.
“But Prue--”
“The earth is shaking. They don’t want us here. We have to go.” He had her arm, and was pulling her to the door.
“But the stone is mine. Another minute--”
“We can’t. They’re gods.” His hand was like another set of manacles. He dragged her out of the room, down the endless corridors, outside. Theo went blindly. All she saw was the white stone, rising up about Prue’s chair.
They came out the back door, into the dry grass. “You’re hurting me,” said Theo.
The boy took his hand away. There were dark fingerprints on Theo’s skin. “Sorry.”
Theo traced the marks with her thumb, slowly. “Your hands are bigger than I thought.”
“Yeah. Lots of people say that.”
Theo tipped her head back and stared at the empty sky. “It’s so wonderful, just to feel my own body again.”
“Yeah?”
“I almost forgot how to move . . .”
“The stone didn’t bruise you, did it?”
“I heal fast. Even your marks don’t hurt any more.”
“Even like this?” He set his hand back around her arm, carefully. His fingers brushed their marks.
“It’s soft, after the stone.” Theo turned to face him, slowly. “I’m almost as tall as you.”
“Gosh. Almost no girls are.”
They were kissing. He was trying to kiss her lips one at a time, so that spit glopped around the outside of her mouth. Prue grasped the beer tour T-shirt in her left hand, pulling him toward her. Her breasts were squeezed against his chest, and his tongue was groping back into her mouth, pushing down. She stepped back, stumbling a little, felt her balance slip, and pulled harder on his shirt. All her weight went into it, so they stumbled together, falling. Meanwhile her right hand came up, to clutch at the back of his head, perhaps, drawing him closer-- and then she was on her back on the dead white grass, and Hardy was stretched across her, unconscious. Dead weight.
Theo always had a rock in her hand, when she wanted one.
She turned and ran back into the house, down the long corridors.