The twang-crack shrrrrrip of taut cloth shredding sounded off like a pistol in the night. It has been a long time coming. There is only so much fraying threads and tension beyond tolerance can abide. Never-the-less Evelyn winced at the snap as her bra dismantled itself – sending far flung fashion shrapnel whizzing down the street and into building sizes with devastating force. High-speed nylon stabbed into concrete with sufficient force that the polyester fused into the ruins from the friction alone. A twirling strand wrapped around a traffic light in a decommissioning pivot that bent the thing backward. Her hands dropped down to her chest to cover her bareness. She halted mid-stride and snapped up straight as a moment of mortified embarrassment seared across her cheeks.


However, her slender snout was tired of that rosy blush. Shame and embarrassment were not tones to fit the occasion. They were out of season. What reason did she have to look down – except to calculate her step? She perused the ruin of her clothing, the unsustainable confines that her ascension had torn away and chuckled to herself. Why was she the one worried here? What shame had she? Let weaker eyes avert their gaze if they could not handle staring at the sun.


Harsh murmurs outside her bedroom door and the fearful look along wide-eyed faces. Scolding tones and harsh hands wrapped around her wrist in a clammy tension. These were the tones in which she was told that her musings were unnatural and abhorrent. That she must control them. In time they were silenced, subdued. Forgot. Erased. But no eraser is perfect. The harder you bear down the more damaged the page becomes. She had quieted her inclinations. By discipline’s hand she’d transformed her fears into the basis of a successful, lucrative career. Her disquieting thoughts unseen behind plastic smiles. But this once she felt truly beyond reproach. Beyond consequence. In control.


It was a lovely feeling. A giddy sense of liberation in its own regard. No longer chilled in her own skinned by the cool night air – she enjoyed the top of the urban heat island. She let her fingers drag along the side of a building as she passed by – feeling loose mortar and stone scrape away at her touch – a silver shower in her wake. Stepping around parked cars, eyeing the way they bounced around her stride. Streetlamps bowed their heads in rows before her – facing the pavement in reverence. A lazy stretch of her leg permitted her to press her paw against one. It creaked and groaned at her touch – the orange sodium face bursting a flurry of sparks as she bent them between her toes like dandelions. Effortlessly curling metal and letting the wreckage fall like so many torn blades of grass. The clang-crunch of it falling onto a parked sedan was music to her ears.


Her march though was restricted by the confines of her clutching, cloistered running shorts. Strained and pained they pulled at her hips, sinking into her fur deeper than her stripes. A finger traced upon the tense cloth as she looked down in disapproval at such inadequate adornments. Her downward glance delivered her the curious sight of a car seeming to retreat alongside her paw. However; it was not moving. It had not shifted direction. Neither was the building side on which she was presently leaning – yet both seemed to slither around her. The confusion of that vertigo was clarified with the sharp pain of the cloth around her hips digging in obstinately. Her ascension was not yet complete it seemed.


A claw scraped along the restraining cloth. It’s taut length cut easily with shrrrip of despair at the traitorous touch; peeling away before her swelling hip. With a crack-snap the overburdened fabric tore loose – fibers plucking as she effortlessly pulled them away. The whole thing cleaved apart – tatters in her fingers that she let fall. They fluttered uselessly to a distant ground while she stretched her back. Shotgun cracks of vertebrae popping into place as she admired her new height.


Boxy monoliths now strived to be on par with her shoulders. Retracing one of those idle building strokes with a fingertips and chuckled at how faint and demure they seemed now. With a forefinger she cut a strip down the side – breaking loose whole cinderblocks and even shearing clean a windowsill with her stroke. Like powder it dissolved under her touch, raining down in a chaotic drizzle of gravel and concrete hail. Her downcast gaze caught the reflection of her grin on the reflective surface of a parked van. She watched her own paw lift and hover nearby before the thud-thoomph of her footfall sounded nearby. An asphalt embrace that sent rippling cracks like arms stretching for help in all directions. The van was thrown onto its side by the mere proximity, ending their staring contest. Her blue eyes stretched across a waist height office building beside her before snapping beyond to a most curious sight; another ascendant figure at play.


Previous playthings discarded, Evelyn set her stride that way. She did not bother to check the crackling effect of her treading advance or the way her cream furred toes shot gravel shrapnel through windshield and storefront alike. Her focus fell upon a familiar red-manned canine figure, posing dramatically before what seemed to be a building top decorated with a news crew. Crimson locks spilled across the broad shoulders of a shorter titaness, blind to Evelyn’s bemused observation. Goodness gracious; what a premature display – given the proper show stopper had not yet even arrived It was interesting to look down upon people for a change. How many conversations spent tilting her head up at a straining incline? Those too-often occasions being blockaded by others bulk. Being up on high put it all in perspective really; you did these sorts of things because you could. The thylacine let the rattle-shake of her steps herald her approach and slipped on her best plastic smile.

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Part Four of the #macromonday Series - a Community Sponsored Commission drawn by  Fauxlacine

Be sure to watch her twitter for future updates each Monday: https://twitter.com/fauxlacine as well as for chances to be entered in various contests or chances to get her vaunted Wing It commissions.

The story will continue with weekly updates here on FA and Tumblr to follow Evelyn Lacine’s non-cannon growth spurt and the havoc it causes.

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The sponsors for this piece were:
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