Does the monkey need some lovin'? Come get your birthday kiss.

(children need not apply)

I love a single ice cube being slid up the curve of my spine. Sometimes, I can hardly stand it, tears come to my eyes.

The feel of a breath blowing softly along the slick trail, makes my nerves tingle and jostle and the buds of the tongue feel like braille across skin and the toes twist in agony so wonderful, never want it to end.


But when it's over, I let it go. He's left his mark and I've left mine and there's no other story that can be written about it. We part ways and I don't look back. Instead, I draw pictures trying to remember what it was like to be happy and see his face and feel his touch and hear his breathing and my body sings a song I keep trying to forget and the melody is like a tangled weave of two guitars that trade the same chorus but play different chords on a different sheet of music that drifts in the wind and is plucked from the air by the most talented drummer who drums the rhythms out on soft leather and imagines a world where beat and song are the highest art forms and plays until his fingers bleed and he must consider stopping or playing through the pain, but of course he chooses to continue his art until the skin on the drum is so thin, it breaks, and the guitars tangle and their notes fly and the players riff and the melody is frenzied and my body sings a different song and the mind plays tricks on memory and melody and the touch is different and I awake to a blank page and I stare at it through the blurry haze and I make myself a cold drink and stare into my glass and listen to the ice clink at the top and I close my lips to the words that want to come bubbling up and I put the glass down and I stare straight ahead.

Trust me, it makes sense.

I think my New Year's resolution will be to break the Sohma curse.

And not be such a heinous bitch all the time.

And stop lashing out at people.


...

Nah. I'm better off just leaving you all with a gift and have done with it.

( Pretty Pretty Presents )

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

She raised a hoof and snorted.

Fleas. It was very unfortunate. How one acquired them when being in animal form only on few occasions was unknown, but fleas had a way of creeping in and finding just the right vein to attack to cause the biggest itch.

She leaned over and nipped at her hind quarter with square teeth.

She got one with white choppers and the wound bled. But it bled more. Let it try to nip at her again.

And she ate it. Swallowed it whole. It was bitter and vile, but without opposable thumbs or even a single finger, who could hope to remove the offending insect from her tongue?

She shook her head and found another flea. And soon destroyed it. It was short work. They were small and didn't know their own mortality, though they trembled at each exposure she caused. She did not regret the loss, but instead turned back into human form and lay in the sun, naked, and stretched out with a smile on her face.

Let them come for her now. If they dared.

She thinks of all the times she’d been terrible to him. All the times she’d trampled over his feelings. She should know better.

Odd enough, he always did.

She’d felt different since toddlerhood…set apart from the others…because she was volatile? Because she could sweep through a room and trail destruction of her own making behind her, not caring who she hurt in the process?

But she did. She did care.

I’m sorry.

I just don’t know how to deal with people.

So, she slipped on her jewelry and skintight leather. She let her heels do the talking and wore her hair like a shield. Armament. Her weapons. Her armor.

My anger.

She hid and hated herself for it. For all her brash talk, she felt pieces of herself crumbling away. Sometimes it was hard to find herself within the walls she’d built up. She searched and called out…but she was so hard to find. She would not even take the name her mother gave her.

She thinks of all this and feels distinctly depressed.

Why can’t I be nicer?

“Boys don’t like mean girls.”

Shut up, Mama. You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.

That bastard. That no good, rat bastard mother EFFING scrunchy-nosed, dick-faced clerk.

That is THE LAST TIME I go there for condoms. Who does that to a girl anyway?

I hate people who get their rocks off thinking they’re god’s gift. And I hate fucking clerks more. All of them.

I try not to glare at people as I pass them by on the sidewalk but I’ve never been particularly good at that.

Trying, I mean.

I think I’ve done too little trying in my life. Fruitful trying. Everything goes to shit under my touch it seems.

Sensei should be proud. At least, he should be. The damned man will probably say he’s terribly disappointed at my lack of control. If he only knew how much control I used and what I wanted to do, he’d be so fucking proud of me, he’d get me a goddamned medal of honor or something.

I toss my mane of hair disdainfully and think of death. For him. For what he almost did and what it would mean to the fucking Sohma family.

I feel sick. What would I have told Akito?

Bile rising. I’m tearing that man’s eyes out with my claws. Hooves. I’m trampling him. I’m crushing his face.

What he had almost done.

And I hate this feeling I’m having and it pisses me off even more to even think of feeling it.

I’m such a coward.