rose-and-reaper - Tumblr blog

[rose-and-reaper]

Source: http://illusion.scene360.com/art/97326/ashley-joncas/

PRIESTESS OF THE DYSTOPIA: THE ARTWORK OF ASHLEY JONCAS

[rose-and-reaper]

The 20 year old child in me pleads “Protect me, please. Make me feel safe. I just want to be worthy of empathy, kindness and protection.”

The 11 year old adult in me explains “We can only depend on ourselves for protection & safety. Others are not to be trusted. The way to survive in this world is to be self-reliant.”

We have not found a compromise yet.

[rose-and-reaper]

[rose-and-reaper]

Demon Rider by Dmitry Narozhny  

[rose-and-reaper]

Lone Apocalyptic - 2 by mjranum-stock

[rose-and-reaper]

-50-

A couple hundred pounds of laminated wood crashes down on Keavy’s skull. She reacts as though preacher man had swatted her with a tennis racket. Which is to say, given her desire for a good punch, with a good punch. Keavy’s right hook smashes into the preacher man’s skull like a cinderblock whipped through a snowman.

[rose-and-reaper]

-49-

Keavy brings her arms up high to repel the preacher man’s latest flurry of strikes and brings her hammer back around for another whack, but the Binder flits out of her reach on a gust of grey wind. Looks like he’s past his moment of incoherent rage and starting to fight smarter. Keavy doesn’t like that. She prefers to fight harder. But right now harder isn’t doing her any favors.

[rose-and-reaper]

-48-

Fifteen pounds of sharp, twisted metal crash down on Keavy’s skull. She flinches, annoyed, reacting as though the preacher man had swatted her with a magazine. Which is to say, given her policy of taking no shit, violently.

[rose-and-reaper]

-47-

Huxley isn’t an extraordinarily quick mover. But she is a quick thinker. And she’s thinking, quickly. In the half of a second or less between the preacher man’s swing and his strike, Huxley has time for a couple of thoughts.

[rose-and-reaper]

Maine Room. photo by Paul Strand.

[rose-and-reaper]

[rose-and-reaper]

-46-

Every window in the church pulls inward and collapses in a great roar of screaming glass. The preacher man’s eyes have lost any semblance of shape and his voice has lost any semblance of intelligibility, the latter gargling out of a mouth far too wide for its head. Tendrils of dust and debris pour in from the storm outside and snake up the pulpit.

[rose-and-reaper]

-45-

“What is the cornerstone of faith?” the preacher man asks, leaning heavily on his pulpit, elbows and all. It is not immediately apparent if his question is rhetorical. He scans the room expectantly, as though his pews contained more than seven bodies. “Trust,” he answers, after a moment. “but trust in what?”

[rose-and-reaper]

-44-

The inside of the church is every bit as mean and austere as the outside, a plain plaster rectangle done up in rows: a dozen rows of pews, each bookended by sand-caked windows and flanked by simple columns that compose the interior’s sole ornamentation. A heavy, lonely wooden pulpit – lectern – Keavy never quite learned the difference – caps the far end of the room.

[rose-and-reaper]

[rose-and-reaper]

[rose-and-reaper]

Post Apo Girls by Serge Birault