Why do you think the sun shines so brightly?  Maybe it collects stars during the day & scatters  them across the sky at night. A blind fortune -  telling of the morrow.                                                 --------- R. N.                    I watched the sun get reflected from leaves,                    little primrose ballerinas stepping on emerald                    specks.                                                -------- R. N.                                      Between a second and a minute,                                      there is an infinity of caresses.                                                                     -------- R. N.          And so, her days passed with nothing but a pen & spilled thoughts. It was a way to reassure herself,  that she was still alive. Living between the cracks of a cerebrum. Pushing through impulses & dreams. Clawing at the remnants of an identity at the tail of a nightmare. A way to convince herself that what she does is enough proof to indicate her existence. Even if she had been deemed dead by her village. A shadow perching from island to island – tracing the circumference of mist & fog. They had welcomed her – those from Kirigakure – with much contempt, but she had preferred to dwell in the little isles that surrounded the village. And she found much needed solace in writing Kakashi, small glimpses of imagination & observation. It was a way to confirm her safety.

+ falsitas

This is a story ---            A story about time.                              Time & the people it changes ..                                                A story about you  ---                                                                             and me.             An identity diluted & dissolved in a whirpool of  years.             Nohara  Rin is no more. She had  been lost between             the tides of sacrifice and complete isolation. She had             been deemed dead for years. They had mourned her.             Remembered  her. Spoken about  her. Forgotten  her.            Just like everything in life – eroded by the accumulated            dust of minutes and seconds ; of sleepless nights and            breathless sighs. But she  was alive  –  a  speck of  life            dancing   between   shadows  and   shades. A  particle            stepping  on  dawns and dusks. Nameless, friendless                                         – a complete stranger.                                " Time never seems to betray us.                          It's the only constant among variables.                                           Wouldn't you agree? "

fulmen---s:

          An emerald fog oscillated around glistening steel. Ethereal amelioration of sharp tools. Magnificent chakra – green swirls of glittering stardust – evaded laws of physics, unhinged from this bruising reality ; her own weightless escape. Slender fingers wrapped around white cloth – ivory skin against soft smoothness. Thoughts combusted and exploded into a net of vivid scenes and plans. Flaring fireworks scorching nerve tissue – possible techniques encrusted into the twists of cerebrum. Chocolate pools were awashed with the scintillating dust specks of faded energy. It was weaker here – her chakra. Weaker, smaller, shrivelled into a deformed lump of phosphorous fumes around pale hands. A spectrum of aquamarine  slowly disappearing.                                  …. Gone.           Light steps echoed in the empty ward. Two silhouettes against glaring whiteness. A press of wet, sterilized fabric to gaping wounds. The noise of scissors conquering textile and discovering new territories of coloured flesh. She had to rid him of unneeded garments. Even at the price of tearing them to shreds. Vocals emit a kindling hum – quiet concentration. Only to be broken by a surge of words.       ❝ It is a tournament? Those fights you participate in? Or perhaps an exam? ❞                             An attempt to spark a conversation & appease curiosity.           She was unaware of the way their world worked. Blissfully oblivious to the complex geometries of their construction. 

 ---;               Constructed anatomy of scarlet kaleidoscope. A blizzard of shades -- red, purple, yellow. Cinnamon pools welcomed the tattered fresco of torn flesh. Bellicose, rebellious, volatile vessel torn into a myriad of shreds ; a destruction of creation itself. The foolish acts of man leading to an atrophy of all that had been carefully constructed by higher powers. And why? And to what extent would violence reign over common sense? And how much longer would she be a witness to such demonstrations of aggression?                  " My, my! Those are quite the wounds.                                              Please, sit down. "                       Words littered with hints of hurried worry. A sense of urgency. Heart rate soaring above average point. An outbreak of thoughts across cracks of her cerebrum -- the flicker of impulses fluttering between synapses.

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（*´▽｀*）

announcement -- ;;