[team three] the heart of the chest — the end

[avantnuit.livejournal.com]

little murders of agatha christie; alice/marlène; 382w; G — little murders but it's set in the future. also i forgot the title i had for this...

chest to chest, marlène sleeps with her eyes wide open. with her hair not even fixed up, with her gown and the usual martyrising lingerie not even taken off — resembling more a hoarding puppy, than all the threatening dragons that fought for the possession of this chest.

small, red, adorned with engraved leather, it is the same as it was when it all started — it is safely, warmly tucked in marlène's arms, and alice has no will to take it away from her. it looks at home, in her embrace, something that was unfamiliar to it before — something that doesn't quite happen to kids from the streets — but that's another matter, a different path entirely, and alice has no will, too, to thread there.

herself in pyjamas and years-readier to bed than her coworker, alice, nevertheless, remains standing. tearing her eyes from innocence herself, she steps towards the large window that makes up the wall — and she looks at the view, looks at the buildings below her, looks at the stars above.

sprinkled here and there just like humanity's traces downstairs, they look just as real as they did when the universally united nations first set them up — they look just as inconsistent as they usually do when alice loses herself in them, and of course - tonight is no different. all traces of constellations are gone with these, and all they do is shape new ones vaguely, reach for meanings that were lost long ago, that cannot be remembered fully.

marlène is good at remembering their positions, at pinpointing which is which — at knowing what they meant, and connecting it all to ancient myths — but the android is asleep, and light snores are the only thing her tongue is able to deliver. far away lie the heroes and the lovers of the past — only in dust they live on — and for now alice fills in as best as she can, if not a little poorly, desperately - starless and human, still. no matter how technologically advanced the world is, the people living in it will always be pale copies of what they're written as — and such a thought is what alice leaves on, turning her back to the spectacle before she loses her footing then self into the depth of these thoughts.

your turn, yrindor!