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05-19-2013, 02:53 AM
The days pasted by, in almost a blur. From a distance your great wings fly, green eyes wide as your make your way back to Helovia. Though you weren't born in this country, this is the best place for a colt be, where your mother should be. You know she is dead though, as you watched her kill yourself, and you tried to do the same. In your grief, you didn't want to be alone, and you turned and fell. However, the gods were with you on this day, and all you did was hurt your small chestnut body. You landed on your wing, and now it is too messed up for you to fly properly. It hurts to move it, and you are in pain, though you still feel nothing. I know you haven't changed, and even though your mother just committed suicide, you act as if it was a complete stranger, and you watched her fall for pure entertainment. You can't even get mad at yourself, and you continue to walk, head hanging low as you sulk.
Why would it be that the world tends to hate and turn it's back on you? Maybe you shouldn't have turned your back on it first, but that isn't entirely true, now is it? You had a heart once, had feelings and had loved ones, but they all seemed to fall like toy soldiers before you, made of cheap plastic and soulless. You are alone in your efforts to escape with your life, and though you aren’t bleeding anywhere else, your truly are a bird with a broken wing. A sob escapes your lips, but still you feel emptiness. It plagues you day in and day out, and there is nothing so demanding as your daily dose of depression. What was so important in your past life that gave you meaning, gave you the breath you drink in so rhythmically now like a resuscitator? Maybe it was all an illusion; the illusions made by an abused child that never had anything to live for in the first place, and that only could make up fantasies that could escape a horrid world full of torment. But the question remains: where you the victim, the marionette of the psychopathic puppet master, or were you yourself the evil overlord?
You stop, out of breath, and you feel coldness run down your skin as it starts to rain. It is not gentle rain, and it starts to flood the area, pelting your broken wing like tiny daggers. You move as fast as your small body and go, green eyes flailing about for shelter, and you find a tall tree in a greener area. By now you have traveled a far distance, through one forest and to the next, which is called the Threshold. Though of course you wouldn’t know that, and you wouldn’t care even if you did. You sit, hiding your wing close against the tree, hoping to protect yourself…from what? You hold your breath as something comes close to you. Is it friend or foe, enemy or a worse enemy? You’ll just have to find out.
OCC Note: I would like Foothills or Throat please, both if I could.
"speak"
