From 4f002c8fc96063d94be48f6b7f9b792eeb5f3e74 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Madison Scott-Clary Date: Wed, 20 Dec 2023 13:50:11 -0800 Subject: [PATCH] update from sparkleup --- writing/post-self/marsh/013.html | 6 +++++- 1 file changed, 5 insertions(+), 1 deletion(-) diff --git a/writing/post-self/marsh/013.html b/writing/post-self/marsh/013.html index a8738ac79..30e171dfe 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/marsh/013.html +++ b/writing/post-self/marsh/013.html @@ -30,11 +30,15 @@

It was so small, and that vast, open space remained silent, empty. The settings on the sim were such that we would only ever see or hear ourselves in there. There might well be billions of others struggling with their own double handfuls of grief, and yet it would only ever be us.

There was more grief to be felt there, layered beneath the exhaustion, confusion, responsibility, and however many more complex emotions had been caked on top. There would come a time when the ability to simply grieve would be laid bare, I knew, and soon, but it was not yet.

And so we stayed in silence.

+

Dry Grass was the first to break the silence, mumbling. “In The Wind.”

+

“What was that, love?” Tule asked, brushing fingers through her hair.

+

“That was my up-tree instance. In The Wind.” She laughed, choked and hoarse. “I remember the rattle of dry grass in the wind. I picked that up from Louie. Eir clade did much the same. I thought I was so clever.“

+

Tule, more flexible than I, bent down and kissed her on the cheek. Cress gave her own kiss after. Both of them glanced briefly at me, looking a little sheepish.

…

The night with Cress, Tule, and Dry Grass was…comfortable. Whenever I tried to think of another word for it, nothing seemed to fit.