. triptyched .

. triptyched .







There had been stages to her extraction. So much time had passed as the fault lines began, then deepened; becoming apparent even while a head rested upon her shoulder and the incomplete and unstating voice whispered to her "I love you"s of sadness.

She'd done all that she could while attempting an understanding of what was language, what was culture, and what finally was failure. The risks had been undertaken knowing the losses could be overwhelming. She'd fought as best she could for hope and a future. The agendas clanked beneath her feet and behind lensed eyes across a table. Time tables and traps had been set that she suspected, but never understood.









Staging in detachment ... the selections of items ... the necessary weapons and armors; the emotional soul's relocation, the abandonment and isolation. She'd paid a last visit to her packs, the hounds unsettled and sensing her numb fury with their eyes wide that night. Whining and yipping then howls as she fed them the last of the meat from the freezer. The Alpha alone had approached with lowered head and body long and sublime to lay his muzzle within her outstretched hand.

Breaking down the last prison bunker she would ever attempt to defend ... she'd taken each task in slow-motioned numb revelation. The necessary detailed routine labors a compass direction. Steady, exhausting sleepless hours, her schedule set and kept. There had been no contacts made, no pacific outreach gesture of accommodations; other plans had been put into place, and she, now become collaterally denied damage.







Evacuation by stolen march ... the hallways and waiting spaces of OTP, thinned of travelers at this early morning hour, echoed with the booted steps of she and her "insurance that she leave" companion. They stood outside in predawn cold and smoked together in silence. His tall narrow form, his Near Eastern hook of nose and furl of brow swathed with thin white tendrils of breath and blown burnt tobacco. They caffeinated in florescent glare, his dark eyes never meeting hers but always there.

He'd stood in the hall at the final seperation point as she transitioned from present to departed. Only then did their eyes meet; his head shaking in that familial negative acknowledgement. She became then, the blur seen in corner of eye; unclear, uncertain, but high velocity in lift and angle. Thin, bruise eyed by exhaustion's grip, folded neatly into her seat; the sunrise welcomed her in.

© Amanda 2014
Images: "Time Forgotten" © 2014; "Yes ... This Silence Kills" © 2014; "Fly Always Beyond" © 2013; all by