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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2021-10-06 16:50:05 -07:00
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writing/dont-look-up.md
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@ -49,7 +49,7 @@ A sign listing no consequences, no enforcement, that bore so vague a warning all
So I looked up.
I looked up and met the eyes of the dead and felt in that moment not only the fullness of my mistake, but my very soul leaving my body. I looked up and saw there, up at the level of the treetops, a figure treading, stomping, walking through the air. I saw the possum above me, saw the tears streaming down her face, saw just how dead she was even as her feet pounded a trail I could not see but which was nonetheless as real as the one I stood on. I saw her walking through the air and, though it wasn't true, I imagined I could see the blue of the sky through her. And I saw her, though it oughtn't be a surprise, looking down, very pointedly *not* looking up.
I looked up and met the eyes of the dead and felt in that moment not only the fullness of my mistake, but my very soul leaving my body. I looked up and saw there, up at the level of the treetops, a figure treading, stomping, walking through the air. I saw the possum above me, saw the tears streaming down her face, saw just how dead she was even as her feet pounded a trail I could not see but which was nonetheless as real as the one I stood on. I saw her walking through the air and, though it wasn't true, I imagined I could see the blue of the sky through her. And I saw her, though it oughtn't be a surprise, looking down. Very pointedly *not* looking up.
I looked up and met the eyes of the dead and she laughed. She laughed! How could one twenty feet up in the air laugh at me, here on the ground? I was the one who was as I should be, and she was the one who was as she should not!
@ -61,11 +61,11 @@ I have inherited her curse. I have died so that she may live, and even as I stom
I am a ghost. That is evidence. I am a ghost because I ignored the admonition and looked up to the heavens and saw a lonely ghost in turn, and even as she stepped down to earth and breathed the breath of life, my own breath was taken from me.
I am haunting these trails, these woods. That is evidence. I am the fox who walks and walks and walks. I am the fox whose hissed breaths between clenched teeth carry curses and pleas both.
I am haunting these trails, these woods. That, too, is evidence. I am the fox who walks and walks and walks. I am the fox whose hissed breaths between clenched teeth carry curses and pleas both.
And my feet no longer touch the ground. That is the final evidence. My claws no longer dent the dirt that is half mud, half rock. My pads crunch against some more numinous trail now, something less tangible and more real than the anchored earth below.
And now, I realize, my feet no longer touch the ground. That is the final evidence. My claws no longer dent the dirt that is half mud, half stone. My pads crunch against some more numinous trail now, something less tangible and more real than the anchoring earth below.
I am inches off the ground, now. How long until I am feet off the ground? How long until, as I perpetually look down to the dirt and rocks and roots, will I be able to measure my distance to the ground in multiples of me? How long until I, too, walk at the level of the treetops?
I am inches off the ground, now. How long until I am feet off the ground? How long until, as I perpetually look down to the dirt and rocks and roots, I am able to measure my distance to the ground in multiples of me? How long until I, too, walk at the level of the treetops?
Why bother thinking about this, though? Why try and understand? What is there to do about it but wait until some poor fool looks up to the heavens and sees a lonely ghost, meets my eyes, and lets me weep in pain and relief and pity?