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Posted: Mon Jun 16, 2008 10:13 pm
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Listen. Stop! No. Enough of the damn 'shadowed orbs' already. No, listen. I'll tell you a story. Sort of.
So. "How could you have known?" says a theoretical conman to some half-real mobster from his extremely uncomfortable, if illusory, seat.
"Saw it in your eyes," the perhaps mobster replies, who makes his trade in blood and deceptions. Saw it in your eyes, no: saw it in your smile; saw it in the sweat slick on the side of your brow; didn't see anything but yellowed whites and faded blues when I gave you that piercing stare that only pierced 'cos of the set of my jaw, he thinks, or rather claims to think, for the purpose of this paltry parable.
No one ever sees anything but an eyeball when they try to fathom the depths of a soul through the proverbial window; concentric circles, black on grey on white, beautiful in its way but not transcendent or translucent. Opaque, really; a barrier between world and mind made imperfect only by the pin-point hole that is the darkest part, anyway. Whoever heard of seeing a character's tragic past in their pupils?
All right? So give bloody grieved Clarissa's shadowed orbs a bloody break.
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Posted: Tue Jun 17, 2008 6:51 am
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Posted: Tue Jun 17, 2008 7:37 am
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Posted: Tue Jun 17, 2008 8:57 am
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Posted: Tue Jun 17, 2008 6:10 pm
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