Griffin ⇆ Collette - Blog Posts

there was something about fresh grief that was numbing, a sort of autopilot that griffin's body just immediately clicked into. he remembered when his uncle died, he was young but he could remember how heavy it felt, like a set of football shoulder pads that he couldn't just shrug off like he had when he was five and tried peewee football for all of six minutes. this felt different. he hadn't been particularly close to his cousin, but still, it felt awful, he felt sick to his stomach. since hearing the news, his body felt like it was in a permanent dry heave while his head was empty, too overwhelmed to form a single thought. but he had to get out of the house, which led to wandering, which led to here standing in front of collette with a vacant expression on his face. he cleared his throat, shrugging, "i don't really know what i said either. not important. probably just, like, hey, what's up?" griffin shrugged, taking his gloves off and shoving them in his coat pockets, "got anything interesting for sale today?" not that he was planning on buying anything, but he could use the distraction.

LOCATION : red creek fish market. TIME OF DAY : mid - morning, just a bit before noon. STATUS : open starter, accepting replies.

the  cognitive  limbo  felt  more  physical  than  usual  —  a  headiness,  floaty  &  almost  dreamlike,  forcing  collette's  attention  in  multiple  directions  as  on  one  hand,  the  influx  of  news  that  came  from  a  radio  behind  the  counter  -  though  interrupted  with  pulsing  static,  still  loud  enough  for  them  to  hear  all  the  unsightly  details  of  this  morning's  findings,  versus  the  smile,  unsubstantial  but  still  there,  etched  onto  their  face  with  a  serrated  blade. it  was  nothing  out  of  sorts,  coming  from  towns  whose  fibre  was  woven  with  tragedy,  yet  each  news  alert  doesn't  get  more  palatable  with  time.  this  was  an  ache  one  couldn't  easily  soothe  over  with  a  few  licks  to  the  wound,  and  it  stunted  collette,  one  whose  gaze  bounced  between  others  whose  mouths  equally  as  upturned  as  their  own,  though  she  could  almost  see  the  scars  of  theirs,  too.  sic  vita  est,  life  goes  on,  but  this  ear  worm  remained  persistent.  they  hated  it,  the  insistence  to  just  keep  going,  life  as  usual  when  someone  no  longer  has  that  opportunity.  but  through  the  fog,  a  voice  boomed,  syllables  growing  clearer,  a  “  huh,  sorry,  ”  spoken  under  the  vendor's  breath.  “  can  you  —  can  you  say  that  again  ?  sorry.  i  didn't  hear  you  correctly,  i  don't  think  …  ”