08-30-2020, 07:41 PM
TIMES ARE HARD BUT I WAS BUILT TOUGH
BAREILLES I.
COALITION
MEMBER
It's a swirling, simmering blackness that greets his vision, and a twisting feeling in his gut that increases as his ears begin to ring, the sound as if someone was continuously dragging a metal fork against a metal triangle, and he feels himself sway on his feet. He feels as if he's spinning, and he half expects bile to rise from the depths of his stomach with the intensity of the motion of his body and the earth beneath him. It's somewhat reminiscent of a ship in treacherous water, but nevertheless he attempts to block out what's happening around him. Instead, the sound gets louder and the world spins faster, his eyes grow heavy and his chest begins to ache, as if he were about to pass out.
It all stops before that happens, anyway.
He's left gasping for breath on the shores of an island the thick black smog receding from his sight, the rocking eventually slows to a stop, although it takes its time in doing so; he doesn't know where he is or how he got there, this hadn't been the home of the ghost-loving group he'd been with before, who'd worshipped a tree god of all silly things.
Thinking back on it, he can't remember what that tree god's name was. He can't remember the names of anyone he'd known, either, or even the names of any of the places he might have once called home. Their faces, in his memory; are covered by the same swirling black mist that had shrouded his sight only moments before. He sucks in a breath, the cold air sharp against the back of his throat, dry from hyperventilating.
He hunches over, his face pressing against the ground beneath him, the sand scratching against scars that have long since stopped being sensitive. His mouth twists into a wiry, twisted version of what might be considered a frown, the corners pulling down and out as he pants harshly, the rising and falling of his chest coming to a gradual stop.
It enables him to stand straight, finally. His limbs are wobbly and if he were going to describe the feeling of the word 'green' it would be what he's feeling at that moment, but words are lost to him for now. His shoulders shake as he leans slightly to the right, single emeral optic slowly dragging across the scenery around him, as if by looking he could find out where he is.
But it's nowhere that he recognises, and after nearly six years of live, the idea that he's never been here before is like a slap to the face.
He wants to call out to anyone who might be out there, but wherever he'd come from, he'd watched plenty of horror movies; no way was he going to be the one to get himself killed by being stupid, and so he tucked himself tiredly against the ground, lowering his face so his chin rested against the sand, and waited. For what, he didn't know. Yet.
It all stops before that happens, anyway.
He's left gasping for breath on the shores of an island the thick black smog receding from his sight, the rocking eventually slows to a stop, although it takes its time in doing so; he doesn't know where he is or how he got there, this hadn't been the home of the ghost-loving group he'd been with before, who'd worshipped a tree god of all silly things.
Thinking back on it, he can't remember what that tree god's name was. He can't remember the names of anyone he'd known, either, or even the names of any of the places he might have once called home. Their faces, in his memory; are covered by the same swirling black mist that had shrouded his sight only moments before. He sucks in a breath, the cold air sharp against the back of his throat, dry from hyperventilating.
He hunches over, his face pressing against the ground beneath him, the sand scratching against scars that have long since stopped being sensitive. His mouth twists into a wiry, twisted version of what might be considered a frown, the corners pulling down and out as he pants harshly, the rising and falling of his chest coming to a gradual stop.
It enables him to stand straight, finally. His limbs are wobbly and if he were going to describe the feeling of the word 'green' it would be what he's feeling at that moment, but words are lost to him for now. His shoulders shake as he leans slightly to the right, single emeral optic slowly dragging across the scenery around him, as if by looking he could find out where he is.
But it's nowhere that he recognises, and after nearly six years of live, the idea that he's never been here before is like a slap to the face.
He wants to call out to anyone who might be out there, but wherever he'd come from, he'd watched plenty of horror movies; no way was he going to be the one to get himself killed by being stupid, and so he tucked himself tiredly against the ground, lowering his face so his chin rested against the sand, and waited. For what, he didn't know. Yet.
I'M GONNA SHOW YOU ALL WHAT I'M MADE OF
— Reggan
STEALING MY OWN PLACE IN THE SUN !
Bareilles ★ COCM ★ 5 Years
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