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Drabbles in Threes III
By pdt_bear


I. 186 words in total; 164 words inside the prompts

As the sun fell on orange marble, I opened windows of sorrow on our weeping. I imagine that it would be as much fun as building your own torture device, complete with levers and pulleys, climbing into said device and then pressing the button. Knowing that all the planning in the world is not enough to prepare the mind (or the body) for that first jolt of pain. There's a bit of futility and resignation -- not so much excitement as it might be a casual reprieve to everything else that might have preceded the moment.

If I lived on hope, then too often, I am dining on despair and disappointment -- in a time where it didn't matter how feared one might be, incompetence was masked by indifference. Then there were those that are competent but also driven away. It was a continual struggle to ensure momentary perfection in an imperfect world. Perhaps this was the true reason that I push them to leave. It was easier to have them believe me unfeeling than to reveal myself so completely. And she makes peace with my cruelty.

II. 199 words in total; 174 words inside the prompts

In a tormented delight of whispered touches, the tremble of your hips draws the confines of my freedom. As if the grasp of hands against soft skin would try to be enough to hold the ephemeral and make it real even as the moment passes, and reality intrudes once more. There are no words that make up this language -- rather, it is silent, gentle -- the threading of fingers into strands that curl and then spill over in a tight grasp. Short breaths that hover and then kiss warm flesh that is pulled taut in tension. The barest hint of a fingernail that traces its way across ivory burnished with the hint of rose that deepens into a sweet cream.

The slight gasp is the only sound that signals the end, or perhaps the beginning of something more. Dark eyes that glitter in the fading moonlight are the only sign that the hunger has not abated, and a thirst remains unquenched. In the coming darkness, truth becomes a story told by fleeting touches and the brush of lips against each other -- fraught with apologies and explanations that remain unspoken and unheard. Today, I'm not afraid to love you.

III. 183 words in total; 169 words inside the prompts

My name on your lips is a benediction. When heard by others, it invokes fear and awe in equal measure. It is an epithet of darkest doom mete out by the harbinger of the end of the world. What begins as sweet and gently spoken by the men in my life eventually crumbles in frustration, as if speaking it aloud would also curse me to turn around and pay attention to their supplication. Yet, my name is magical -- opening doors long shut, and granting audience into worlds where mine is the key to persuade hesitant minds and hidden talents. And so it is, I remain lying here, mouthing words silently, knowing that I will never speak them out loud, even if they are meant for you, and only heard by you. I want my actions to speak more than anything I might ever say. I hope against hope that my efforts are enough, that even if I constantly disappoint and your anger burns deep and true, that you will remember all that I have never spoken. And your body holds my silence.

The End

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