Post by blossom(semi-hiatus) on May 14, 2016 5:31:57 GMT
Everything is Blue
His pills, His Hands, His jeans,
And now I'm covered in the colours
Pulled apart at the seams
His pills, His Hands, His jeans,
And now I'm covered in the colours
Pulled apart at the seams
❧
The forest was quiet except for the sounds of song birds making their morning calls as the sun rose out over the territory. Slinking through the grass, Obsidianheart sighed in relief at the silence, glad for the peace and quiet, away from the bustling camp. He was not the type for crowds or bluster, preferring to keep to himself most of the time. It was easier that way, since there was no one to pester him about how he ought to talk more, or how he was strange, or cold hearted.
That one actually kind of stung. He knew he wasn't the most open and friendly of cats, but to call him cold just felt extreme. It was the price he paid to avoid harsher words, however and the facade protected him well. He wondered if he even existed in the minds of most, or if he was just a shadow, lingering just out of view.
With a huff he settled near the root of a cypress tree, leaning against it and staring off into the woods. He had all day to hunt, and had been assigned no patrols. He could afford to sun bathe a while and think, enjoy the sounds of the forest and the tranquility of the early morning. He closed his emerald green eyes and inhaled deeply, leaving his mouth slightly open for a moment.
The fresh dew on the grass dampened his fur, but didn't make him uncomfortable. Truly, it was a wonderful morning, and yet it did little to bolster his mood. Dark thoughts crept at the edges, like stinging nettles in his mind.
That one actually kind of stung. He knew he wasn't the most open and friendly of cats, but to call him cold just felt extreme. It was the price he paid to avoid harsher words, however and the facade protected him well. He wondered if he even existed in the minds of most, or if he was just a shadow, lingering just out of view.
With a huff he settled near the root of a cypress tree, leaning against it and staring off into the woods. He had all day to hunt, and had been assigned no patrols. He could afford to sun bathe a while and think, enjoy the sounds of the forest and the tranquility of the early morning. He closed his emerald green eyes and inhaled deeply, leaving his mouth slightly open for a moment.
The fresh dew on the grass dampened his fur, but didn't make him uncomfortable. Truly, it was a wonderful morning, and yet it did little to bolster his mood. Dark thoughts crept at the edges, like stinging nettles in his mind.
word count ● sybil ● notes
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