She can hardly make her voice form the second sentence when the desk picks up, to saying which room, who is she, even as she blindly grasps for it. Untouchable. Fleeting. Slipping through her fingers. Fingertips become claws gripping the plastic near her ear when it's suddenly his voice, his voice, his voice and something — whatever last littlest skin to cling to — nearly obliterates entirely on those two syllables; almost sobs —
but it's too deep, too denied — she chokes, starved from making any single sound, on a silence trained deeper even than breathing —
for her father, for the cameras, for Ray
— and it's a scrabbling, shambling, desperate thing, cracking the first sound she makes even as it comes out a whisper ]
no subject
She can hardly make her voice form the second sentence when the desk picks up, to saying which room, who is she, even as she blindly grasps for it. Untouchable. Fleeting. Slipping through her fingers. Fingertips become claws gripping the plastic near her ear when it's suddenly his voice, his voice, his voice and something — whatever last littlest skin to cling to — nearly obliterates entirely on those two syllables; almost sobs —
but it's too deep, too denied — she chokes,
starved from making any single sound,
on a silence trained deeper even than breathing —
for her father, for the cameras, for Ray
— and it's a scrabbling, shambling, desperate thing,
cracking the first sound she makes even as it comes out a whisper ]
Luther