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Fire Emblem 10 - Hunger Hurts
Hunger Hurts (Fire Emblem 10)
Genre: Parody
Word Count: 600
R, borderline NC-17, for sex and dirty jokes not quite worthy of Nabokov.
Summary: They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.
Notes: This started from a conversation where various fandom presences such as Mark and Raphi complained about the depth of characters such as Ilyana. Henceforth follows a story addressing such a theme, which not entirely coincidentally clears the entire SNOBS Bingo Board. Complete notes are on LJ.
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love
- Fiona Apple, Paper Bag
They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.
- Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot
“I used to live quietly,” she says. She tosses an apple she hasn't eaten, up and down, parabolic curve, into her palm and upward. I say nothing – I have said nothing for years. “I'm so hungry,” she says, tossing the apple before her face, without craving, without desire, listless ad infinitum.
By night we copulate: her lingual muscles and intercricoids contracting, her greedy hunger (for me) moving her mouth about me as if forming the words I can't say.
[a͡ɪk]
[a͡ɪk]
[a͡ɪ:k]
– her tongue pulses over and over.
I'm not thinking of her and she's not thinking of me. I am not deluded by her sickly pale hair or her waif's waist; not by her hands, not by her heat; and neither is she deluded of me. We replace nothing. We distract. She is hungry and I think too much; she feeds and I cease to think.
I never ask her for her story but every night she tells me anyway, and every night is different.
“I was seven,” she says, “and I tried to charm a spirit
['spi. ͡ɚɪ.tʃɑ:ɹ.mɚ] – south Crimean accent.
– but I didn't know what I was doing. It entered my stomach rather than my heart, and that's why–”
(Hypothetically speaking –) ['b̥ɹæn.dɪd] – old church dialect, mine.
The magic is strong in her, nearly as strong as mine. When we bond I can feel it. I am no longer jealous of her, she never took my place, I understand that now.
And now I am a beast. A cow. She feeds off my milk.
[mu:]
No, that's not how it goes. The only sounds I make are
[ʔ.ʔ.↓h:.↓h.h.h.h.h]
And the motions of her mouth speak the name for whom I am crying.
“I was eleven,” she says, “and I left my hometown. I couldn't find work. Tried to rob travelers and couldn't, I was eleven. I nearly starved.
(Hypothetically speaking – no, I could not speak then either.)
– Muston and the others found me, and wanted me to work for them. But they needed to ensure that I could be trusted. That's why–”
[fɚm.ðe:.na͡ɪ.hæd̚.tə.fɑ.lo̰͡ʊ̰]
When we bond I can feel her magic. Still I cannot tell her truths from lies.
I wonder sometimes when we will part and where she will go from there. It will happen; nothing is forever. Little even lasts a little.
With men as they are, goddesses as they are, perhaps Ashera and Yune will return in separate form, and war anew.
[oʊ:↘.gɑ.dɛs]
She tosses an apple neither of us have eaten – aside from of each other, we have not eaten of late at all – she tosses it up and down and says, “I'm so hungry.”
I let her speak and do as she pleases. I wouldn't know what to say to her even if I were in the habit, nor do I know what I will.
“I was fifteen,” she says, “and when they ran from the Daein army, I couldn't keep up.
Leaving for awhile.
– The merchants didn't wait for me. I resisted before the enemy took me, and took a dirty wound to the side. That's why–”
Don't know when I'll be back.
Don't worry about me.
One morning I wake and (s)he is gone.
I toss her apple up and down, oscillating, wondering when the world could end.
Genre: Parody
Word Count: 600
R, borderline NC-17, for sex and dirty jokes not quite worthy of Nabokov.
Summary: They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.
Notes: This started from a conversation where various fandom presences such as Mark and Raphi complained about the depth of characters such as Ilyana. Henceforth follows a story addressing such a theme, which not entirely coincidentally clears the entire SNOBS Bingo Board. Complete notes are on LJ.
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love
- Fiona Apple, Paper Bag
- Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot
“I used to live quietly,” she says. She tosses an apple she hasn't eaten, up and down, parabolic curve, into her palm and upward. I say nothing – I have said nothing for years. “I'm so hungry,” she says, tossing the apple before her face, without craving, without desire, listless ad infinitum.
By night we copulate: her lingual muscles and intercricoids contracting, her greedy hunger (for me) moving her mouth about me as if forming the words I can't say.
[a͡ɪk]
[a͡ɪ:k]
– her tongue pulses over and over.
I'm not thinking of her and she's not thinking of me. I am not deluded by her sickly pale hair or her waif's waist; not by her hands, not by her heat; and neither is she deluded of me. We replace nothing. We distract. She is hungry and I think too much; she feeds and I cease to think.
I never ask her for her story but every night she tells me anyway, and every night is different.
“I was seven,” she says, “and I tried to charm a spirit
– but I didn't know what I was doing. It entered my stomach rather than my heart, and that's why–”
The magic is strong in her, nearly as strong as mine. When we bond I can feel it. I am no longer jealous of her, she never took my place, I understand that now.
And now I am a beast. A cow. She feeds off my milk.
No, that's not how it goes. The only sounds I make are
And the motions of her mouth speak the name for whom I am crying.
“I was eleven,” she says, “and I left my hometown. I couldn't find work. Tried to rob travelers and couldn't, I was eleven. I nearly starved.
– Muston and the others found me, and wanted me to work for them. But they needed to ensure that I could be trusted. That's why–”
When we bond I can feel her magic. Still I cannot tell her truths from lies.
I wonder sometimes when we will part and where she will go from there. It will happen; nothing is forever. Little even lasts a little.
With men as they are, goddesses as they are, perhaps Ashera and Yune will return in separate form, and war anew.
She tosses an apple neither of us have eaten – aside from of each other, we have not eaten of late at all – she tosses it up and down and says, “I'm so hungry.”
I let her speak and do as she pleases. I wouldn't know what to say to her even if I were in the habit, nor do I know what I will.
“I was fifteen,” she says, “and when they ran from the Daein army, I couldn't keep up.
– The merchants didn't wait for me. I resisted before the enemy took me, and took a dirty wound to the side. That's why–”
One morning I wake and (s)he is gone.
I toss her apple up and down, oscillating, wondering when the world could end.