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| Hecuba's Troy | |
| By gutterkitty | ||||||||||
| 05 December 2007 | ||||||||||
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I wanted to call this Cassandra, but I thought that would make it even more confusing, as it's not written from her point of view. They burned the bed. My bride stumbles from the ashes, diamond eyes as torches in coal-feathered features. They took those too. Through the holes where irises once gleamed I hear the children set alight, screams bright. Smoke- swallowed into ships. Their cries echo round my sockets, singeing the white night. Already stung with the women’s hoarse lament; my mother’s throat lost in the throng of voices. Already burned, her child a torch. Dropped from the battlements like kindling. I coffin the little body in my son’s shield, wedding robes to quench the heat. Feel the warmth of deadened fingers through the sheets. And the air thick with heat. Skin red like a slave’s. My next husband will be toil, blackened hand already pressed into his. I will sweat with him til my skin bursts. All is flames Cassandra. No need to cast the world with fire. Release the torch and quiet your grasping prophecies. Don’t you know they stole your eyes?
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