A Six Sentence Sunday sneaked in amidst holiday shenanigans! (Working in a giant bookstore days before Christmas is never a boring thing, I promise you all that.)
This week in The Clockwork Coloratura, my little clockpunk retelling of The Pied Piper, Anna is left to try and come to terms with the fact that the song she had thrown herself into following has seemingly betrayed her, and she is now left lost and blind and alone.
She carried on screaming, because it seemed that there was nothing else to do.
The screams she could at least understand, and they went forth neatly in the only directions that mattered: Out and away.
(And she did not dare to consciously wonder if they might somehow bring the boy to her, but hope burned just as brightly at the back of her throat and hid itself behind every cry.)
She carried on screaming, and did not remember for several long seconds that she still had feet and hands. She had forgotten her body, in its current useless state; she had accepted that it no longer served a purpose but to bring her self closer to the source of the song.
But the song was scattered and her eyes had grown dark, and she had no choice left but to reach out and feel.