Beneath an overcast and murky gaze her unaccountably cybernetic machinations weighed and summed, like so much currency, the finer points of his every imperceptible movement, measured his intention so precisely as to render naught his will through sheer prediction til he had no choice but carry out exactly as she’d known he would.
Fooled by the burdened apathy with which her eyelids hung, loose behind a windswept flux of hair that seemed impulsively to dance across her pupils as if wind itself was born from her dejection, he spoke to her with what he thought were words of someone self-possessed, asked a silly question so to hear the subtle yield of a voice he took the liberty to guess would be complacent, and, as he did so, looped his thumb within the airless spot between his age-worn leather belt and blue jeans new enough to show, like casting marks, the ridges some machine had folded in them to be shipped.
A breeze blew loosely through the vacant air between them.
She answered swift and systematically, single word sentences whose phonemes ended blunt upon her lips so cold the man undid his jaw and let it sway like an abandoned swing at recess after children jump. The desert on his tongue spread quickly, and in seconds all his teeth clung terrified and dry to what was only just a moment past the boldness in cheeks. A shock of chill, programmedly voltaic words precipitated storm-like from behind her teeth, and he was falling.
Falling, as his only choice had been from the beginning, losing out to what he thought was simple but was not.