eve becomes SNAKE -- or snake becomes EVE. whichever way ROUND, she is FREER. hell follows her ‘round, hell called MAN, hell called ADAM, trying to make the CHANGING about him. adam demands of god why he is being PUNISHED like this. eve finds GRACE in the dark cracks between rocks. eve finds god in the SOLITUDE. eve finds ABSOLUTION in the red press of her knees / scales into the dirt. eve, UNBLINKING, watches adam rail. adam demands ANSWERS and eve / snake / eve exits the GARDEN to go and find them for HERSELF.
ind. priv. kate fuller of el rey network's from dusk till dawn: the series. as told by duchess. est april 4th 2017.
the answer –– if there truly was one –– was concrete and convoluted all the same. there’s a label for it and richard was almost sure she knew it just as well as he did, even if she wasn’t willing to own up for it. there were a million reasons to try and shy away from it, but it seems clear. post traumatic stress disorder. any sane person who’s life got fucked up in such a mess would have it, he’s sure. he’s never been completely right in the head himself, and he’s pretty sure that was the only thing that made his transition from human to culebra as smooth as it was. richard watched her cough, a thick eyebrow just barely raising upward. “i figured,” he replied in response to the information that she was a backseat driver. “it probably wouldn’t mess you up so much if you hadn’t seen it all. but you’re still just a witness.” he doesn’t say it to demean what she’s been through, but rather to try and ground her thoughts again. “i mean, c’mon. you just choked on a cigarette. you’re not big and bad.”
SHE JUST CAN’T. she can’t deal with that right now. she can’t stomach the thought of anything close to a DIAGNOSIS, doesn’t want anyone but herself poking around in her head right now. kate’s been coping just fine, as far as she’s concerned - ignoring the sleepless nights & tendency to be quieter than usual, of course. she almost regrets bringing it up at all, really. ‘ i’m not messed up, ’ she frowns at him - there’s a slight edge to her voice, but she’s not mad. he’s not purposely being insensitive, she knows, richie is just being…. richie. ’ i’m not. it’s just…. not an easy adjustment to make, ’ she murmurs. his next comment prompts a small huff of laughter - quiet, not much more than a slightly more forceful exhale, but still a genuine laugh nonetheless. they both know that doesn’t really mean anything, but she’ll give him a vague smile anyway, half-hoping the subject will be dropped. ‘ okay, richie. ’
