pterosaur: (💮To be living with the living?)
[Open to anyone. This is the drowning-dream.]

You’re flying over a dark, heaving sea on long, golden-purple wings.

The sky is gray. You can’t see the sun or any shore, and it’s getting darker, and you’re tiring. There are no thermals here. The air is unnaturally still, no friendly breezes to help you along. You’re beating your wings in a ragged pattern - once, twice, then a few seconds of gliding before you dip too low and flap again.

Cut for length, not rating. )
pterosaur: (💔Quickly lost)
[So, late in the morning the following words are reluctantly written though not on a post-it.  The letters are what you'd expect from someone using an ultra-thick marker on a larger-than-normal journal.  It's not quite the same as Above's usual handwriting, but it's markered and in modified all caps, all the same]



I can't fly.

[Replies, when they come, will be from [livejournal.com profile] dream_of_flesh .]

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"Horizon" Janine Farehouse

November 2015

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