’ ‘Tchah!’ He glared at her. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. "By that time, I shall have fully considered a plan which occurs to me for defeating the schemes of your enemies. So you took my womb away, you took my baby! So I could be a monster! Because she was a monster! We are monsters!” He grabbed the top of the cannon away from her face.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 22-09-2024 12:51:05
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