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07-03-2016, 05:36 PM
The aching sinuses, burning throat and pounding head, he just couldn’t for the life of him ditch (what had it been, a week already? a year?), but the stagnant, stale, stifling air in the threshold, he could and would until the putrid stink of mould no longer pestered his guts to heave. If Banjo was going to continue to suffer the demoralising, deathly effects of this ‘man-flu’, he was going to do it in relative comfort.
And quiet.
It would be like a little holiday, a weekend away, without the need for chatting up every man and his dog on Ashamin’s behalf - although, it was normally a job he rather loved. The sickly buck lay like a corpse, motionless (perhaps a little melodramatically), sniffing back streams of endless golden snot from his gaping nostrils and relishing the deep shade thrown by all the long grass; purple thistles too that seemed determined to stab and jab any upright movement he made.
The torment of life was just all too much to bear…
So on that spot, he went to sleep.
The throbbing pulse in his ears quickly became rolling, rumbling thunder, high in the heart of building. black clouds. Burning, bleary eyes blinked against every blinding flash (they were coming faster and faster); electric yellow, striking the earth viciously, violently, and with each fork of lightning came a deafening CRACK! upon impact.
The summer had been sultry and oppressive, the first like it in nearly a decade, and the promise of rain, of the brewing storm overhead, sent the hardy creatures of the outback into a frenzy of activity; anticipation and excitement fuelling their mood. Wombats, who's deep subterranean burrows stood no chance against such events, were scurrying busily, grouchily, finding for themselves sanctuary in seldom seen, higher-up places. Insectivorous birds, wag-tails, silvereyes and swallows, all swooped and swerved amid clouds of churning flies, and their less ambitious cousins hunkered down beneath whatever shelter they saw fit.
Snakes and lizards alike, flattened their scaly stomaches against the residual warmth of hard, red rock, and taking advantage of their foolish, last minute harvest were cunning old kookaburras, descending upon their unsuspecting prey with sharp clacking beaks. It was madness, hysteria, and as the first giant droplets of rain smacked against the parched, dusty ground, the rousing chorus hit its peak!
Then suddenly, everything but the booming thunder lulled, and the landscape all at once was empty.
Banjo watched with gleaming eyes, revelling in that sweet smell which signified the moment before a deep soak, a cleanse - and bloody oath was that overdue. One pale, furry arm was slumped about the shoulders of his sister, the splitting image of himself, yet younger and bathed in sweet, soft femininity. Whiskered lips sank to nuzzle adoringly at the smooth fur between her long ears; their cave was set into the upper rise of a hill (one of only a handful in the horribly, boringly flat stretch of world), and the careful buck knew well that she’d be safe from the fury outside.
They'd lingered a day longer than they should have…
Open to anyone :)
Plots | The Unbound | Absences
I run just like this!
Please tag me in openers and spars.
Feel free to flog n magic me, mild power play is also fine.
Text in the profile and posts reflects stereotypical ocker slang - don’t knock it mate!
I run just like this!
Please tag me in openers and spars.
Feel free to flog n magic me, mild power play is also fine.
Text in the profile and posts reflects stereotypical ocker slang - don’t knock it mate!
