♡ ↻

♡ ↻

gun powder and stardust then the arresting smell of blood. the world as it is then as it is now lulls into the imprint of corporeal hierarchy; elusive threads enticing either side of the bloodbath delegate minatozaki sana in between the two opposing classes: one in thorough tenacity of justice, the other stalwart in mindless greed. dreams of a quaint, quiet living purported by the number of her salary from paycheck to paycheck keeps the tangible detachment of her disposition intact, much to the appeasement of the ruling class. a mere vessel whose narratives are essential to the emergence of death counts, that's what she is. a disposable instrument. stay alert. keep an eye on the journalists, they say. they're too nosy. the ride was idle and uneventful, news still reeling in from the chime of events now focused upon the injustice served daily on the dishes of poor families. each chew is a conundrum — the dates rolling by, heedless that mayhaps their death anniversary may have already passed. until one flimsy paper decided the future of her yesterdays. notice of closure, printed in thick, obsidian letters — illusory to the conclusion of the journalism that has manufactured a significant number of news and opinions delivered to the masses, accessibility impartial to the averted. the last part most disdained by the elite, and so, the owner of the company was arrested. they did their job too well! only did it give rise to the fury in the heart of the workers and unified them. a sullied countenance and an intuitive stance on the wrongdoings of the state did sana find herself in the middle quite literally: often in the midst of a protest, joint calls arising and heeded towards press freedom and justice for the poor. the voice of whom once an instrument shaping the narratives of dead bodies, now rife with ferocity, injecting life into the lives once lost but not forgotten. finally a purpose separated from the corporate world. then it was her turn. she couldn't quite remember. not the gun wounds, the blood nor the life seeping from the body to the asphalt, but the face of the police officer who shot her. the face of a friend. of a lover. then unconsciousness took her over. 

♡ ↻

♡ ↻

sins: abortion, and dRug addiction, pathological liar. — to be continued.

 

 

♡ ↻