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06-04-2014, 04:44 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
The nights were shorter, and warmer, but when the black sky yawned like a gaping void, it swallowed all the day's heat regardless. It spiraled out into space, and what it did there, Mauja had no clue, but it left the early summer night pleasantly cool—almost bordering on cold, lightly dressed as he was in his summer fur. The moon lit the dark world, ran its silver hands along the edges of every blade of grass, until, rather suddenly, a shadow passed it. It was like the world had blinked, momentarily letting darkness fall across him, and his head snapped back, up, pointing into the sky as his eyes searched the heavens. Something dark was moving up there, reminiscent of Mesec, but it didn't have his bright belly.
Well, the moon's child was hardly the only black Pegasus out there.
With a sigh he let his eyes fall down again. Whatever energy he'd had had run out, dried up, and left him dispirited, broken. The world had taken on a gray cast, everything was steeped in pointlessness. Sometimes, the idea of yelling I killed Torasin and walking off the Edge seemed incredibly appealing—because it would evoke reactions in the onlookers, and rob them of the opportunity to sentence him to some ghastly sentence of hippie-cuddling.
Racism didn't flare in his blood anymore, but when in the pits of depression, the one thing that came easiest to him was black, foul anger. Hate. Something to fill out the empty space underneath his skin, to stretch it taut across bone and muscle, and give meaning to this machine of destruction.
But even that was a fleeting thing, flickering out as quickly as it ignited, leaving him raw and more desolate than he had been. He cut a lonely figure in the night, trekking across the center of Helovia, and lonely in more ways than one. Were where his friends? d'Artagnan?
He hadn't seen any of them in so long, it was no wonder Illynx quipped his ears off about it.
The black Pegasus had landed some ways away, wings folding tight against her sleek sides. Briefly, the idea of tormenting her was appealing—of going over there and staring darkly at her until she snapped, but in the next heartbeat the impulse was gone. What was the point of it, anyway? He sighed. Went on.
Didn't even know why he kept walking, after all this time.
Well, the moon's child was hardly the only black Pegasus out there.
With a sigh he let his eyes fall down again. Whatever energy he'd had had run out, dried up, and left him dispirited, broken. The world had taken on a gray cast, everything was steeped in pointlessness. Sometimes, the idea of yelling I killed Torasin and walking off the Edge seemed incredibly appealing—because it would evoke reactions in the onlookers, and rob them of the opportunity to sentence him to some ghastly sentence of hippie-cuddling.
Racism didn't flare in his blood anymore, but when in the pits of depression, the one thing that came easiest to him was black, foul anger. Hate. Something to fill out the empty space underneath his skin, to stretch it taut across bone and muscle, and give meaning to this machine of destruction.
But even that was a fleeting thing, flickering out as quickly as it ignited, leaving him raw and more desolate than he had been. He cut a lonely figure in the night, trekking across the center of Helovia, and lonely in more ways than one. Were where his friends? d'Artagnan?
He hadn't seen any of them in so long, it was no wonder Illynx quipped his ears off about it.
The black Pegasus had landed some ways away, wings folding tight against her sleek sides. Briefly, the idea of tormenting her was appealing—of going over there and staring darkly at her until she snapped, but in the next heartbeat the impulse was gone. What was the point of it, anyway? He sighed. Went on.
Didn't even know why he kept walking, after all this time.
