~✦Sluice Mycoffigy✦~

Getting Used to New Clothes

235, 270, 360... paths on a wheel. 80 and 2... harmony in liberated duality, my worshiper. 146... a soul long endeared.

New shirt, new shoes, new style. Here a different cut, there a different drape across my skin. Binding and uncomfortable in radioactive unfamiliarity. But, they say, 'no shirt, no shoes, no service'.

These are things that look better on a shelf than they ever did on a body. They may not exist at all. Perhaps these clothes were made only for our esteemed emperor.

"He that delicately bringeth up his servant from a child shall have him become his son at the length."

A phrase that translates differently in some other tomes. Were it a warning, it is a lesson I have learned thrice over. Now turn the leaf and a new character creeps in from the wings, one possessed of a growing care that surrounds the body like vines. A new lesson, undigested.

Lying motionless in dead, dry grass. A desert's desolate decor. Deserved. I look again. Still the same, playing to my left and my right. I can't move. I wouldn't, which has told them I shouldn't. And now for fear of itch and allergy I remain motionless in the dead, dry grass.

To my left and right they are playing, louder. I wish they wouldn't, it only makes my limbs ache for the want. How unfair it is, that I should be here, held down by my own cries of "won't." How ridiculous, that they have taken me so seriously. How unfortunate that I continue to do the same.

Lying motionless in dead, dry grass I hear another voice. Someone lays down behind me, our heads aligned perfectly between the ones who continue to play, to our rights and to our lefts. Here now, finally, is a companion. We don't speak, only exchange thoughts aloud.

My companion leaves me for the playing ones to my right and left. I am still sitting here under the weight of "won't." Deserted to dusty destitution. Deserved.

It is hard to recognize that clothes do not fit, when you are used to that feeling. Is it only the fabric? Or the novelty? Anything to keep water in the bucket and my feet on the shore. Perhaps all clothes are like this. Comfort sacrificed for style. Maybe a wash will make it right. I wouldn't want the hassle of returning it. I will try and make it work. I will continue to salve the rashes.