... decades of youth and centuries of silence (c)
“Where’s Candice?”
“Out for the evening. We’re not getting along too well right now.”
“She knows?”Vergil smirked. “How could she not know? She sees me naked every night.” He turned away from Edward as he said that. He was lying.
“Are you stoned?”
He shook his head, then nodded once, very slow. “Listening,” he said.
“To what?”
“I don’t know. Sounds. Not sounds. Like music. The heart, all the blood vessels, the friction of the blood along the arteries, veins. Activity. Music in the blood.”

"He was too weak to blink, so he closed his eyes and waited.
There was a rhythm in his arms, in his legs. With each pulse of blood, a kind of sound welled up within him as if an orchestra were performing thousands strong, but not in unison; playing whole seasons of symphonies at once. Music in the blood. The sensation become more coordinated; the wave-trains finally canceled into silence, then separated into harmonic beats.
The beats melted into the sound of his own heart.
Neither of them had any feel for the passage of time. It could have been days before he regained enough strength to go to the faucet in the bathroom. He drank until his stomach could hold no more and returned with a glass of water. Lifting her head with his arm, he brought the edge of the glass to Gail’s mouth. She sipped at it. Her lips were cracked, her eyes bloodshot and ringed with yellowish crumbs, but there was some color in her skin.
“When are we going to die?” she asked, her voice a feeble croak. “I want to hold you when we die.”

"Edward and Gail grew together on the bed, substance passing through clothes, skin joining where they embraced and lips where they touched."

(с) "Blood Music" - G. Bear

@темы: стихам не хватает красных телец, книжный червь, такой ползает по строчкам


Flowers for the exile