The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

let this be known (poem)

Aug
30
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a kind of lightning (poem)

Aug
30
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bruises (poem)

Jul
26
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Take My Hand

Jun
01

Saruhiko caught his breath staring. No bone. No blood. No ash.

Mikoto gave a sort of bone deep weary sigh and leaned back with that tired look about him that sometimes made Saruhiko wonder if he ever felt regret.

“That’s too bad,” Kusanagi said.

Saruhiko blinked at him in surprise for the understated reaction, then looked down at his own hand. It was shaking. They’d said as much, but it was only hitting Saruhiko now that by taking Suoh Mikoto’s hand, he could have died.

A moment ago, there was a person. Now, there was nothing: no bone, blood, ash.