Note: This piece was inspired by a quote by Jarvis Cocker of Pulp that is mounted on a university accommodation building in Sheffield, UK. I thought it was appropriate or some of it anyway. I've written it from Maud's POV. This is the quote:
"within these walls
the future may be
being forged
Or maybe
Jez is getting trashed
on cider
But when you melt
you become the shape
of your surroundings:
your horizons
become wider.
Don't they teach
you no brains
at that school?"
Jarvis Cocker off the shelf 2005
Feedback: archaeobard
Melt
By Archaeobard If you melt, you become the shape of the thing surrounding you. So I melted. I dissolved into flesh as it stole against mine darkly. I gathered myself to her and with a hotness let her take hold. For her touch was more than a madness; a feverish pull. Her touch was a forgetfulness that consumed me. It flared and flamed until all around me was barren but her. It was a fastening, a binding. Like the gloves that bound my hands, she now bound me and wrapped me tight. I became the shape of her, the moulded form pressed strongly, caving; craving the touch of her, the feel.
I told myself it was necessary, for I was to become her. I must become her to convince the madhouse doctors. I must know her intimately, her every secret. But it was I who abandoned my secrets to her. I gave them to her with the willingness of a child. A trusting kind of innocence I could not fathom. How had this thing come upon me? I could not define the moment. It was a growing sense that quite suddenly made me realise I could not do without. Yet this pulling to conflagration was something else. She had me without effort. There came a time when I ceased to see her as the bait by which I would be captured. She was pouting and evocative. She was gentle and kind. She was the bait by which I would be captured but to an entirely different end. An end that would see her upon me in darkness, her lips lightly touching mine with such a teasing, unsure presence that I must respond. Perhaps I was bold, perhaps curious, but she had started and I wanted. So I opened myself to the taste of her, beckoning. She had followed my urging, perhaps she was surprised, perhaps she expected it. But it moved her, she pressed to me harder and made some small sound of wanting. I would do nothing, for I was melting, unable to respond, I must only suffer her caresses, touches, kisses. I must bear the excitment of her. I must allow her to take me when my whole being dictated I take her. For this too was Richard's plan. This too would make her seem destined for madness. Richard would call it 'gross attentions' and it would seal her fate. He said we both must believe it. I believed it. I wanted it with the whole of me. But I must melt. I must become the thing that surrounds me. I must become its shape, its form, its very being. For I am my own poor mistress...and my heart is breaking. The End