John Walker's Electronic House

In Her Eyes – Part 6

by on Mar.27, 2006, under The Rest


The skin on her left forearm split open – about an inch long – as the swelling of the blister burst. Others were welling up alongside it, the crisping surface preparing for more little eruptions. Each fine hair had let off a small popping sound as it frizzled to nothing, leaving the skin bare to the face of the heat. The nylon of her left trouser leg was melting, sealing itself to her thigh, the two bubbling together. Her ear cracked as her hair burned away.


There is a box. The box is clear, perfectly clear, as if it were the conjuring of a mime. It is sealed on all six sides, and she lies inside it.


The fire made a sound, like the crazed rush of a hurricane, fighting its way through a canyon. It roared a ferocious, destructive battlecry as it consumed. It was a magnificent beast, one of her own creation, and under her own control. Each burst, each new thread of flame, was her incantation. A puppet for her amusement.

The liquid skin on her arm now burned, a green-orange blaze, dancing so prettily. The flame danced for her, the servant entertaining her in her throne room. At her whim it leapt higher, then would sweep its way further towards her shoulder and arm, increasing its chorus line. She smiled, splitting open her cheek.


No sound can either enter or leave the box. She is naked. The energy for pounding against the box is drained completely, her hands now unable to make fists.

Her face is down, her chin pressed against her breastbone, her eyes open, staring. Both arms are wrapped around her knees, legs hugged to her breasts. She cradles herself, the slightest movement as she rocks forward and backward.


Her song, so powerful, drawn from her centre and exploding outwards, is beautiful. Her mouth, able to open so much wider without the restrictions of her left cheek, releases this ballad of joy. Her whole body dances to her tune, painted with the colours that only she has seen, all alight in their radiant flames. The sound still continues, still “WUMPS” within her, but it is fading, terrified. She will have victory.

Everything is alive in colour and sound. Everything performs its life-tune for her, and her alone. None other can see or hear them, none other has the skills to interpret their ways, and she reigns over them.


She would weep, but there are no tears.

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