Tá Republique
By Amanda Firefox
Love, closeness.
I can see it in her smiles, her eyes, the gentle words. I can see it in the way she reaches out to touch me, to adjust the collar of my shirt when time leaves us standing alone on the barren tops of buildings. I admire her grace, her speed, the nimble movements of her fingers as they tap new life into old keyboards, setting the air aflame with the sublime beauty of a masterpiece of mathematics and sound. She is everything I have ever wanted in a consort, everything I could hope to find, but like the seraphim that flit incandescent in the halls of high heaven, she is the embodiment of an ideal that flies on, forever out of reach. In reality, she is the consort of another Alpha, untouchable, the betrothed of another leader among the men of this dusty Republique.
I know the man that she is betrothed to. He is a man who is brother to me in every way but in blood. I have lived among his people, his father is as my father, and I count him among my most trusted allies. I have seen the way she looks at him, the way the love that stirs between them manifests in smiles and kisses, gentle touches– but I have also seen the way her perfect lips pinch up in disgust when he destroys the things that she loves most as a show to others of the strength that he finds in his ignorance. Together, they stand incongruous, two shapes which could only connect in some impossible vision of the universe. She sings, and her voice becomes a heavenly thread which sews tapestries of feeling and tone that bring the tears only an artist of the soul can cry to my too-long-dry eyes.
But the eyes of my brother remain dry, stone-like, unmoved. His heart is a place that is full of knives. Only in the fires of the killing fields do I ever see him smile. Only amidst the cries of the butchered helpless do I ever hear his laugh.
As with others, I try to be happy to see them together, try to see the light in the love that my brother has fought so hard for, won so many of his own wars for. It doesn’t matter. There is a pain within me which refuses to be squelched, and even as the forbidden lion awakens in my heart at the raised hand my brother uses to sweep away and smash her isometric joys, I know it will not roar. The passing love of eyes and frightened, innocent touches is strong indeed, a hard-shelled seed which may nest and fester in the heart of one, but the love that binds brothers back to back in the fields of fire is a stronger love still.
The unspoken code of Alphas, the iron bond of unbreakable understanding, of mutual respect, is a rope of steel and wire that manacles and bites at my hands, gags my heart. Caught in a trap of my own design, my strength of will becomes a cage from which I can never escape.
- - -
Amanda Firefox is a fiery little blue-eyed brunette who spends as much time at the beach as she can manage. She doesn't write much, but when she writes, it's almost always about her favorite subject: boys.
By Amanda Firefox
Love, closeness.
I can see it in her smiles, her eyes, the gentle words. I can see it in the way she reaches out to touch me, to adjust the collar of my shirt when time leaves us standing alone on the barren tops of buildings. I admire her grace, her speed, the nimble movements of her fingers as they tap new life into old keyboards, setting the air aflame with the sublime beauty of a masterpiece of mathematics and sound. She is everything I have ever wanted in a consort, everything I could hope to find, but like the seraphim that flit incandescent in the halls of high heaven, she is the embodiment of an ideal that flies on, forever out of reach. In reality, she is the consort of another Alpha, untouchable, the betrothed of another leader among the men of this dusty Republique.
I know the man that she is betrothed to. He is a man who is brother to me in every way but in blood. I have lived among his people, his father is as my father, and I count him among my most trusted allies. I have seen the way she looks at him, the way the love that stirs between them manifests in smiles and kisses, gentle touches– but I have also seen the way her perfect lips pinch up in disgust when he destroys the things that she loves most as a show to others of the strength that he finds in his ignorance. Together, they stand incongruous, two shapes which could only connect in some impossible vision of the universe. She sings, and her voice becomes a heavenly thread which sews tapestries of feeling and tone that bring the tears only an artist of the soul can cry to my too-long-dry eyes.
But the eyes of my brother remain dry, stone-like, unmoved. His heart is a place that is full of knives. Only in the fires of the killing fields do I ever see him smile. Only amidst the cries of the butchered helpless do I ever hear his laugh.
As with others, I try to be happy to see them together, try to see the light in the love that my brother has fought so hard for, won so many of his own wars for. It doesn’t matter. There is a pain within me which refuses to be squelched, and even as the forbidden lion awakens in my heart at the raised hand my brother uses to sweep away and smash her isometric joys, I know it will not roar. The passing love of eyes and frightened, innocent touches is strong indeed, a hard-shelled seed which may nest and fester in the heart of one, but the love that binds brothers back to back in the fields of fire is a stronger love still.
The unspoken code of Alphas, the iron bond of unbreakable understanding, of mutual respect, is a rope of steel and wire that manacles and bites at my hands, gags my heart. Caught in a trap of my own design, my strength of will becomes a cage from which I can never escape.
- - -
Amanda Firefox is a fiery little blue-eyed brunette who spends as much time at the beach as she can manage. She doesn't write much, but when she writes, it's almost always about her favorite subject: boys.
0 Responses
Post a Comment
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
