|
|
Post by dietrich on Dec 28, 2010 1:30:14 GMT
MY HEAVENLY SCENE OF MIND OR COULD BE HELL. MAYBE I'M NOT EVERYTHING I SHOULD BE, YEAH.Plasticine people walked placidly down the street, molded to please the perceptions of others. The recent rainstorm had drenched the world in a bleary gray blanket, acid black streaks tearing away at the edifices of once noble buildings. And there in the street stood a boy with a bird in his hands, a plume of orange-red feathers glistening like embers. His grim frown managed to hold on to the courage that his soft, empathetic brown eyes lost. The soft quiver of a moving chest pulled at his heart-strings, a fondness for the innocence of animals touched him more than a human ever could. Tucking the mass of feathers under his jacket, gently held by the crook of his arm, the boy stepped out of the way of traffic and followed the labyrinthine streets back to his humble abode.
The boy felt chilled to the bone, hair wet and shoes soggy. A familiar paranoia prickled the back of his neck, every shadow and alley harboring characters of malice. The neighborhood had a gruesome sense of humor, but the boy had a little joke of his own in the form of a stiletto blade resting in his pocket. A blade yet to be christened in blood, fortunately. The apartment complex was in a dilapidated state, and probably would have been condemned if not for a remote enough location to not be actively scrutinized. The boy scaled the creaking wooden stairs, protectively shielding his little bundle from the screams of domestic dispute and wanton cries of babies. Behind his own door, the sound of silence and the protection of a lock evoked a sigh from his breast. His sanctuary from society at last.
He made a little nest from an old woolen throw blanket in the crook of his couch, tenderly tucking the bird into it. The little chest still breathed, inspiring a subtle amount of hope in the boy's otherwise serious expression. His delicate fingers softly stroked the soft damp feathers, tucking each back into place with care. He avoided the noble beak and head, sitting down on his haunches to inspect every inch of it. He had not the faintest idea of how to deal with birds, or if this one would even survive until morning. Dogs and cats he had the more usual experience with. The bird fascinated him though, every feather seemed unique with its own color and pattern. Such a beautiful creature, not one he had ever seen close up. He memorized every detail, tucking it away in his brain for the canvas. He felt heartbroken.
"You poor thing..." He crooned in a deep voice, stroking the small head with the back of his fingertips, "Why were you flying in that storm anyway?" The boy poked and pulled at a wing, checking its movement. "Guess I shouldn't talk. I was walking in the rain for hours. No reason, really. Looking for something I can't find." The boy mumbled, not thinking much of what he was saying, but feeling comforted by saying it to something. He pulled at the other wing, pausing to check out a lump of disturbed feathers. "What happened here? You should not be flying in the city, my darling. This concrete trap is not for you. Where are the mountains and the green pastures? Maybe you're just stuck here like me, getting beaten and bruised to death." He let the bird be and sat back onto his pockets, propping his head up by his hand. His amber eyes showed a great deal of patient sadness, and he waited.
[/size][/font][/center] |
|
|
|
Post by viper on Dec 28, 2010 19:51:21 GMT
I'LL SPREAD MY WINGS ``and learn how to fly[/font] ----------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------``i'll do what it takes
TILL I TOUCH THE SKY[/center][/color][/font]
-------Earlier
She didn’t believe in fairy tales. She didn’t believe in a perfect world. She believed in escaping the imperfection in search of something worth living for. Minx found most things were more intriguing whilst it poured. She was wasting away in her small apartment with her two brothers, staring out the window, watching the droplets race down the window when with a blasé sigh, she announced to neither brother in particular that she was leaving. Cinead didn’t even acknowledge her statement, and Neacel seemed so engrossed in his delusions that he more than likely didn’t even hear her.
Feeling relatively invisible, Minx traipsed out the front door, barely hanging on by the hinges, squeaking violently as she slammed it closed behind her. Her feet, adorned in ripping converse padded along the dilapidated apartment corridor towards the stairs. She wasn’t one for elevators; you never knew what they would decide to do.
Finally dismounting the dozens of steps she had gingerly walked down, placing her weight on the toes of her feet only, she leaped a few inches so that she was face to face with the exit door. The blaring red letters above her flickered with the shoddy wiring this building was blessed with. Of course, the raging tempest right outside the door wasn’t assisting the flow of electricity. Minx sighed, putting her hand to the door, listening intensely to the wind that was at her fingertips. Her eyelids flickered, synchronized with the flickering of the exit sign as they began to close, suddenly heavy with a daydream of desire. She knew the winds outside would be nearly impossible to maneuver, cutting through her feathered wings with ease, but she didn’t care. She wanted to be above the city, above everyone. She wanted the adrenaline rush that only came with risking your life in order to escape from your reality. With that, she pulled her hood up and pushed the heavy door open, fighting the harsh, cacophonous wind with her meager human arms.
-------Present
Everything was black. She attempted to feel her arms but felt the wave of loose feathers instead. Was she still a hawk? She opened her piercing yellow eyes, seeing the world through blurred lenses. Every color was blending together, making it painful to hold her eyes open. Her head rolled, eyes shutting closed violently. Everything felt wrong. Suddenly, her chest puffed out viciously as pain from her wing set in. Her eyes flew open, everything found a surprising level of clarity, sharpened by the throbbing aches of pain coursing through her from her wing. Her breathing quickened, her chest pounding up and down.
Her head twitched as her eyes rolled, taking in her surroundings. She opened and closed her sharp beak a few times, allowing herself to taste the air, when from the side, her peripherals caught sight of a male sitting by her. Her head snapped in his direction and she cocked it slightly, examining him. Had he brought her here? He seemed to be talking to her. Minx sat still, listening intently.
She shook herself, her feathers all moving in unison as she did so. Her injured wing moved last, reigniting a burning pain that made her wince. Eyes closing, Minx realized every one of her avian muscles was tensed. Willing her muscles to relax, she fell back into something warm and comfortable. Twisting her neck, she turned to see she had been placed in a makeshift nest of a blanket. She smiled inside as she turned back to face the male, cocking her head the other direction to observe him. As much as she hated to admit it, she was quite enjoying the attention, even if her wing was exerting a piercing pain.
|
|
|
|
Post by dietrich on Dec 30, 2010 3:48:04 GMT
MY HEAVENLY SCENE OF MINDOR COULD BE HELL. MAYBE I'M NOT EVERYTHING I SHOULD BE, YEAH.The boy instinctively froze as those bright yellow eyes exposed themselves to the world, a definitive sign of life. Patiently sitting with bated breath, he made no move to spook the animal. It seemed disoriented, confused, and pained by the way it slowly moved, testing every movement. But even in its debilitated state, every movement was so precise and quick, as if the little bundle of feathers was fueled by a shorted electric current. He bit his lip, watching curiously to make sure that the animal wouldn't suddenly go mad and hurt itself worse. He wouldn't know what to do if the thing decided to race around his apartment. Not that there was anything in it able to be damaged, as the boy's living arrangements were primarily devoid of anything beyond necessity.
"Easy baby," the boy crooned as the bird finally caught sight of him, reflected in those large pupils. Charmed by the questioning tilt of the bird's head, the boy smiled lightly in relief, "I'm glad you're awake... don't freak out, okay?" He spoke quite naturally to it, although speaking to an animal was far less intimidating than speaking to a person. And as potent as his loneliness was, he could make sense of the nonsensical with ease. An innocent fragility warmed the edges of his otherwise lifeless expression; deep in the warmth of his brown eyes were the smothering embers of kindness and empathy. A need to give life to inspire his own. Seeing the bird come to life warmed his chest where hope had so frequently ran cold. A hope that he hesitated to recognize, but so desperately wanted to be rekindled.
The boy practically jumped out of his skin as the bird fluttered, and he winced as if he shared its pain. His hands instinctively rose up to catch the creature, but realizing his action might scare her, the boy slowly dropped his hands back down. "Hey, easy... Your wing's a little banged up, eh? I hope it's just sprained and not broken... For both our sake's. I don't have enough money to take you to a vet's." The boy explained to the bird as it continued to look at him. A shy smile wafted across his face, "You're so beautiful. I've never seen a bird so close up before..." His hand slowly reached out, touching the softness of its feathers with his fingertips. "I won't hurt you. But you should just sit there and rest until I figure out what we should do..." He pulled his hand back and slowly scooted away, resting his back against the coffee table.
"My name's Luka," he introduced himself to the bird, fiddling with his shoelaces, "I'm not good with animals... So, I apologize if I'm the worst possible person to be taken home with..." Luka explained sheepishly, blushing a bit and looked away, "I had a rabbit once, but it died.. It wasn't my fault or anything, it just got sick one day. After that Morgan would only give me dead butterflies, pinned behind glass. He said I couldn't fuck up something that was already dead. I'm not very good at taking care of things..." Luka reminisced wistfully, looking a little overwhelmed and bleary. "So please don't die, alright? I won't let you become another cadaver for an art project. You need to fly again, somewhere nice." Luka shuffled and shook his head, a few strands of chocolate brown hair dancing across his angular features. With a determined air, he popped open the laptop sitting on the table for some answers.
[/size][/font][/center] |
|
