bdwilson: (Exercises)

There were times I understood his choice. When I left another home, ran another time. When all I could see in my future was the freezer and wanted any fate but that.

Mostly, though, I remembered how broken our mother’s eyes were when I finally made it home. I remembered how everything he’d built was shattered with the bullet. I remembered how it didn’t stop the company from taking what it wanted.

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Mirrored from The Notebook

bdwilson: (Exercises)

It’s a cliché, but it’s still true: attachments are dangerous. I’ve done better than the other by using it as my guiding principle. Don’t set roots, keep moving, stay casual. But that’s a fucking lonely way to exist, especially when you’re on the outside looking in one what you want more than anything.

Never knew how much worse it’d be to get invited in.

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Mirrored from The Notebook

bdwilson: (Exercises)

When I was a child, I can remember believing charms had magic and rhymes had power. The very connection between the words made cracks and errant steps dangerous to my mother, and rain could be banished to some distant point in the future. It never seemed to bother me that the storms didn’t stop immediately, or that my mother’s back remained intact even through occasional inattention.

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Mirrored from The Notebook

bdwilson: (Exercises)

The city seemed to dim at night, the light of the business district shutting off below her. Rebbeca knew it was illusion, that the back streets were garishly bright, but she appreciated the effort all the same. Pretending the city needed its sleep even if its inhabitants didn’t, and night existed to have it.

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Mirrored from The Notebook

bdwilson: (NaNoWriMo 2012)

They were going through the records. Travis stood at the back of the analysis booth, hands folded behind his back, trying to keep his breathing even as his heart raced. They were going to find something. He didn’t know what — or he’d already have removed it — but he was certain they’d find him out.

Foolish. He knew better.

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Mirrored from The Notebook

bdwilson: (Exercises)

When was the last time someone asked me what my name really was? Hell, when was the last time I gave an honest answer?

This is a bad, bad idea. It was stupid enough going to Liev, but going home with him? Fuck, I must be nuts. I should leave before they wake up, but I know I won’t. I’m just too fucking tired, and no matter how much it hurts, I need to do this.

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Mirrored from The Notebook

bdwilson: (NaNoWriMo 2012)

It’s been seven years, big brother, and I’m still here. You wouldn’t know me to see me, and not for the obvious reason. Everything has changed.

We tried so hard, but they took us one by one. It seemed like such a simple thing at the time. Get the tech, get your research, get revenge, then… get on with life? I never planned that far, not really. Maybe I expected to get caught. But here I am, and everyone else is gone.

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Mirrored from The Notebook

bdwilson: (Exercises)

There are days when the only way to feel the wind is to take to the roofs. Even within the limits of Arkadi they can’t stop the air from moving entirely, no matter how they try. The distence from the city below helps, as does the breeze on my face. It makes me forget it’s just as trapped as I am.

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Mirrored from The Notebook

bdwilson: (Exercises)

It was one of those nights. Liev didn’t want to take the call, but he had a rep now. There was no getting out of it.

“You need to do something!”

It always came back to that. They called security because tech support called them crazy, and who else was there?

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Mirrored from The Notebook

bdwilson: (Exercises)

Phantasim wasn’t even in full swing yet, but the tables by the runways were packed. Proximity made friends of strangers, and they all wanted to be close to the dancers. It was almost sad, how much Arnold wasted on the holos farther back. Only the shy ones picked them over the real thing, or the ones who weren’t really there for the show.

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Mirrored from The Notebook

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BD Wilson

February 2017

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