Rhinestone & Calliluga
a short story
Rhinestone & Calliluga
By Ophelia Everfall
They’d been scared. Both of them saw it as so. Nothing was taking them home. Every one was wrought of slaughter bought by horrors-not. Each person hadn’t been who they were. There were two.
Rhinestone was the place in time known now. The other was a collision set to course felt inside. Each would hold the two.
Burning fires of raging water with windswept cloudscapes above harden cliff faces across the breath of space and spaciousness, led to the brother first. Rhinestone felt herself the lady. She liked to dance. Calliluga was a slower sort of waltz, some rock of distance and burdensome stability.
Together they would be and free to see what could be.
It knew itself inside every being. They understood some back. All would talk and puke, every would shit and laugh. Never had truth come passed.
People thought themself special — unique.
They were less and more, big and small, steppingstones of stories told would break the mold and be quite bold. Every lesson taught the sum, it was a game, one she had one.
Her name was Daphne Garrido of Earth. She lived in Washington State, the town of Tukwilla, and it was the 23rd of January, year 2026, before and after would be different. The bell had been wrung. She’d felt it out ahead.
They were all a soul with something stowed. It wasn’t her but they, the one she saw who made it stay, that feeling wrought of nothing quite, some younger breed of mighty might. Tides were changing on Earth.
Balance was being remade in opposites. Calliluga was stepping forward.
It had been Daphne to call the shot. She’d have the spot. It was her turn to make a choice that bled right back straight passed her voice. Someone there had been repaired, they knew it true but hid and stared, her name was not that wicked one, who Daphne’s love forever glumed. They’d been a she but he inside. It wasn’t that, just something snide. She’d be the queen of Daphne’s heart. They’d see the value of her art. She knew it thrice and kept her track. Never once would to be tact. More was more and less was less. Daphne had the very best.
She felt it down and built it up. Wretched, evil, wild luck. She’d seen right through the horror’s name. She’d called the shot which almost rang. It would feel true, oh, true enough, the rest would be within her snuff. Something more would always be.
Calliluga — it was her glee.
