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06-22-2014, 02:29 AM
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I'm dead in the water, still looking for ya'
Trembling. Torn souls don't know how to fix terrible times. But the tainted weather is terrorizing the thin flesh of the golden one. Tight muscles are trying to take the initiative and warm her up with their tireless trembling. Temperatures still dropped though. She would tremble till death. Numb. Narrowing thoughts of naïve times and near death experiences. No one can understand the pain. Never would they be able to fill that hole that was nowhere near neatly cut from their frames. Only those who had lost part of their soul could begin to comprehend the nastiness of the situation they were in. But it was more than her emotions that were numb. Her extremities were numb. Numb to a point of concern. Denial. Delirious cries come from Cirrus's maw. Darkened thoughts, dampened cheeks, and destroyed minds are what seem to demand her every word, her very being, into the actions they are creating. No! she had allowed to fall from her lips. Deep inside, though, Rasta knew it had to be the denial of the situation. The denial which had dug its claws so deep into her flesh for years when her companion had been so forcefully ripped from her. Denial is the darkest daemon. Flight. That feral response. The fight or flight desire. For if one cannot figure out the fatality of their own comments they are simply flailing around without a purpose. Fast limbs back up the golden one as the snort comes in closer to her. But her muscles fail to move quickly. Fate has figured out that she deserved the pain. So, with muscles screaming in agony for having to move in the frozen-like state they were in, Rasta allowed her audits to pin back. Try to bite me. I'll knock you off your feet… Flight? More like fight for Rasta… Run. She could run away from the racket. Rock herself in a reserved place, rationing her strength until she really couldn't live anymore. But, the real question was could she survive the raging fire that reckoned to devour her whole. The ruffling of feathers catches Rasta's attention. However, the recent creation of ice along the strands of her mane, her whiskers, her audits. Realizations of the possibilities of frostbite racked through her brain. Maybe she should run while she can. Soft. Nearly silent words of singular tone slide into her ears. His name. She had never needed one for her saviour. He knew when to come. She had never needed to call him forth from the ashes. But, she supposed, had she ever needed t name the spirit tied to her that she would have dawned him Regalis. Sweet words, sounded in a way that clearly crafted the sickening pain of her memories, fell from her lips. "Regalis. My hawk's name was Regalis…" Soft words do not surrender make. Holes. The hole increases. Heavy edges tear more, burdened by the pain of finally giving her other half a name. Heart torn and with little left to revere, she dropped her maw down to her hurting chest. It wasn't healthy in this cold - but it also wasn't healthy to have this hole. Could the holes be filled? Breathe. Breaths of warm air met the air before billowing and turning to frost. Frost which soon met the battered ground and the snow now falling. Lungs are crackling as she breathes in the cold, dry air. She deserved the torture, not just because she had done so little to get her companion back - but because she had stayed in denial for so long. But she couldn't breathe anymore… Trying to freeze her out I see. LOL |
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Mystified, just spinning 'round in circles
Drowning in the silent screaming with nothing left to say
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Mystified, just spinning 'round in circles
Drowning in the silent screaming with nothing left to say
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