Freedom on Two Wheels, Prologue.This is not a tale of rebellion. I am no hero, nor am I any kind of demon. I do not buck the system, or at least that is not my purpose. I do not try to shake off the reins of those around me, frustrated at their lack of trust, or faith, or whatever it is that sets off the kids of today.Freedom on Two Wheels, Prologue. by HeadmistressMercedes
All of this, this entire story that I am sitting here telling you now, is simply that: a story. A story about me. Maybe you'll find it boring. Maybe you'll think me a stupid little upstart who has no direction or point in life.
You might very well be right.
But I feel like writing tonight. So I'll write, whether or not you sit through the whole thing.
This is just a tale. A tale about me.
Well, me and someone else. Someone who let me watch the world zip by at 100 clicks, but always made sure that every inch of it was sucked into my brain. A blur with definition, a smudge in detail. That was the world for me for 10 months.
That was my world. My world on a motorbike.
Stellar SystemAnd I fall.Stellar System by HeadmistressMercedes
There is no other word for it,
It is a long and constant journey, where I know there is no end,
But I cannot recall the beginning.
There must have been one, and
the back of my brain is fuzzy with a memory, distant,
yet the length of this trip makes me think that
my lack of retention is nothing more than the
dizzying wind in my eyes blowing my past away.
And I fall.
There is no other word for it.
The cosmos look so pretty as streaking splatters of light,
all pink and green and glowing,
pinpoints of paint dragged on a needle's tip as I pass.
The universe is a finger painting from a ghost of my former self,
a girl that I no longer remember,
a history that will simmer in the stars without me.
I am not here for the shades of days gone by.
I have already passed by them.
And I fall.
There is no other word for it.
There are little clips of light that blind me,
a shard of ice or a slice of a life
that is no longer mine, and shall never be again.
And that's all right.
Goodie Goodie Gumdrops!Gumdrops.Goodie Goodie Gumdrops! by HeadmistressMercedes
That's what I can taste right now, if I close my eyes. Beautiful, opaque gummies, bursting with that sickening sugar that we all devour and crave.
That's what I can taste right now.
I can taste it through my nose. That scent, that glorious perfume, rushes through my sinuses and injects itself directly into my tongue. Delicious, awe-inspiring, and oh-so-bad for you. The prefect trio for a perfect bit of candy on a perfect day. A day like today, for instance.
Before today, I would never have likened the smell of gore to something so innocent and delectable. Blood would have never reminded me of the best of childhood treats, something I would be rewarded with when I was a good little girl.
But I guess what they say is true...revenge is most certainly sweet.
UnevenI am an uneven weave. I have a strange thread count, one that never quite has enough to make a strong blanket, a beautiful throw, or a designer shirt. I have holes that stretch and strain as I am pulled this way and that, forward and backward, twisted to fit the wearer.Uneven by HeadmistressMercedes
But, despite my poor quality, my low level of production, I will do my damnedest to make sure you are covered. That there is something to shroud your skin from the wind and the cold, even if my seams are not straight. I will be the cloth that you don when you need that one last layer to chase away the chill of the day, or be the final comfort to an evening where the fire is our only friend, and the moon, our constant scrutinizing eye.
I cannot be called pretty, but to some, I am beautiful. I cannot be called the best, but to a few, I am first-class. I cannot be called quality, but there are those who praise my dedication and hold me high on the pedestal for all to admire.
I am uneven.
And in that, I am perfect.
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