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His skin was the color of just-pressed olive oil,
neon puke green?
I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.
“And perhaps you should get some new stories, so I don’t fucking kill myself of boredom.�
okay diva real
I think: This is what I will miss. I think: I will kill myself rather than miss it. I think: How long do we have?
Achilles� gaze lifts to meet hers. She is afraid, but does not draw back. “I hope that Hector kills you.� The breath rasps in his throat. “Do you think I do not hope the same?� he asks.
