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I'LL BE YOUR NUMBER ONE WITH A BULLET
a loaded god complex, cock it and pull it
a loaded god complex, cock it and pull it
For once, he was obedient. Kind of.
He had followed Ma diligently, his spirits dampened by the way she shuffled her feet and dragged her weight, leaving grooves in the sand for him to prod through morosely. His hooves fit neatly into the spaces, though he had to splay his legs to fill her strides, his little body stretched as wide as it would go, his tongue clasped between his teeth as he concentrated on not falling down. Normally this was one of his favorite games, and he would call to Ma to have her look, to see how well he could be like her, fill her place upon the ground until the day when he could fly. He'd wiggle his tail feathers and grin his crooked grin- and then he'd jump ahead in his excitement and ruin the whole path, and have to start over again.
But as Zèklè trod through his mother's tracks that day, the game felt more like a chore, which was awful. What was wrong with Ma? She didn't seem sick, or tired; she didn't even seem angry with him, even as he wiggled and whined in her wake. It made him unhappy, so he resorted to sulking, waiting impatiently for Ma to get better and wishing he knew how to make it all okay. All he wanted was for Ma to smile- ideally at him.
He didn't notice that Ma had stopped until he bumped into her rump, his nose squishing against the curve of her thigh before he could remember to stop. Zèklè reached his head around her flanks, grinning hopefully, waiting to see her smile back- but no, she simply chided him, and he withdrew, sullen. Ma wasn't even looking at him, she was too focused on something else, on someone else. The boy scowled, and turned away, angry that this stranger could make Ma smile when he could not. Maybe he should just leave and let her hang out with the strange stallion who didn't even seem to move, except he did just r e a l l y s l o w l y . . .
Zèklè was not a boy prone to hold his displeasure, to nurse it against his chest and let it fester, and he quickly found himself interested in the strange stallion despite his earlier ill temper. A child of bustle and activity and action, he found the idea of the slow dance perplexing- why was the stallion doing something so silly? Of course he wasn't gonna get strong like that- how could he possibly beat anyone in a fight going slow motion? Whenever Zèklè watched Ma fight she was always going fast so she could hit whoever she was fighting super hard. What was this stallion gonna do, bore them into submission?
The boy wanted to laugh, but Ma was still watching and she'd told him to "hush", so instead he burrowed himself beneath her to drink instead. He maneuvered as he did so, so that he could rub his itchy rump against the tree- now that was a smart use of action! Just watching the stallion made him want to run. He was bored with the stranger and his strange, slow dance.
"I am more than the sum of my parts.".
He had followed Ma diligently, his spirits dampened by the way she shuffled her feet and dragged her weight, leaving grooves in the sand for him to prod through morosely. His hooves fit neatly into the spaces, though he had to splay his legs to fill her strides, his little body stretched as wide as it would go, his tongue clasped between his teeth as he concentrated on not falling down. Normally this was one of his favorite games, and he would call to Ma to have her look, to see how well he could be like her, fill her place upon the ground until the day when he could fly. He'd wiggle his tail feathers and grin his crooked grin- and then he'd jump ahead in his excitement and ruin the whole path, and have to start over again.
But as Zèklè trod through his mother's tracks that day, the game felt more like a chore, which was awful. What was wrong with Ma? She didn't seem sick, or tired; she didn't even seem angry with him, even as he wiggled and whined in her wake. It made him unhappy, so he resorted to sulking, waiting impatiently for Ma to get better and wishing he knew how to make it all okay. All he wanted was for Ma to smile- ideally at him.
He didn't notice that Ma had stopped until he bumped into her rump, his nose squishing against the curve of her thigh before he could remember to stop. Zèklè reached his head around her flanks, grinning hopefully, waiting to see her smile back- but no, she simply chided him, and he withdrew, sullen. Ma wasn't even looking at him, she was too focused on something else, on someone else. The boy scowled, and turned away, angry that this stranger could make Ma smile when he could not. Maybe he should just leave and let her hang out with the strange stallion who didn't even seem to move, except he did just r e a l l y s l o w l y . . .
Zèklè was not a boy prone to hold his displeasure, to nurse it against his chest and let it fester, and he quickly found himself interested in the strange stallion despite his earlier ill temper. A child of bustle and activity and action, he found the idea of the slow dance perplexing- why was the stallion doing something so silly? Of course he wasn't gonna get strong like that- how could he possibly beat anyone in a fight going slow motion? Whenever Zèklè watched Ma fight she was always going fast so she could hit whoever she was fighting super hard. What was this stallion gonna do, bore them into submission?
The boy wanted to laugh, but Ma was still watching and she'd told him to "hush", so instead he burrowed himself beneath her to drink instead. He maneuvered as he did so, so that he could rub his itchy rump against the tree- now that was a smart use of action! Just watching the stallion made him want to run. He was bored with the stranger and his strange, slow dance.
"I am more than the sum of my parts.".
Z è K L è
am i more than you bargained for yet?
am i more than you bargained for yet?
