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I was on the loose. There was no stopping my rampage. Sorry Ma, but I couldn’t stay still to save my life. I would worry you a lot in those days (sorry) and cause all sorts of ulcers and heart attacks and whatever the hell. If I could help it, I would’ve relieved the stress of my own hard-headedness—but I guess the irony is that I was too hard-headed to see your worrying. Because I had places to go, things to do, people to see. Okay I’m lying; I had none of those things to do. But I did run. The Spark in my heart forced this upon me, placed this compulsion for me to run as far as I could, as fast as I could, for as long as I could. Hours at a time I would just book it for miles, letting the wind rush passed my ears, into my too-small mane, flow through my too-short tail, thinking if I went fast enough I could fly (I still hadn’t discovered the use of my wings). I had the energy to do it too, in case you were wondering (the Spark thing) and even though I was personally ignorant to the source and spring of all of my interminable energy, well, I had it, and I didn’t worry overmuch about it. Why should I? I was too damn busy with running to worry about small things like that. Where would I run to? Well, the question is where wouldn’t I run to? Okay sure, I didn’t go passed the borders yet—I was too small to have that much guts in my system. Liver-overload or….something sciency like that. Or…um. Moving on with my point, I didn’t leave the borders. But traveled to the tops of hills and invaded their valleys, I found my way into all sorts of small, natural caves, got lost in any grove I could find, wandered into places that I was told was off-limits to some Peabody like me. Please. I know they’re older and huge as all hell, but I’d like to see Auntie or Mr. Archiballs try and restrict me from going somewhere. Just try it! I would fight them myself; if I had fists, I would be swinging them for sure! I listen to any word of caution or advice until I fought over it—that’s just how I was. My life was a huge brawl waiting for me to jump on in and join in the fun. Anyway, I was running. I ran because…well. I guess when the ground underneath me melted away and the world around me blurred and smudged into one awesome super-color, I could think clearly. I could…think about how the world was so huge and how there was so much in it without feeling too small. I had those thoughts, y’know. It’s not fun being scared and too scared to show it; it’s not fun wanting to be strong with no idea what strength was. So I ran and pretended I was kingqueen of the Foothills, happy and mindless and complete in my conquest for comfort and clarity. Also, alliteration. I was coming up onto some shrubbery and foresty stuff, and I decided in my happy little filly mind that—for some reason—the trees would jump away from my frightful might. Because I was the shit and the trees should know that. Yes. They should. So I didn’t slow down my onslaught, completely confident in my ability to inspire the trees’ quaking fear or completely destroy them if they decided to stand there and be belligerent in their solid immobility. They were totally the ones being belligerent in this equation. No, really. I was entirely without fault flying down a hill, head bowed, horn pointed at a knot in some benign tree all the while expecti— Ow. OOW. OWWOWDAMMIT. Ooooooow-how-how-how. Aaaaaaaoow that didn’t just happen. No, shut up. That didn’t—I totally didn’t just shove my horn into a tree. I didn’t do that, no. This is (ow) just a migraine. Just…..oooowhowhow. Obviously I had completely stopped running, forced to a complete halt because my head was just splitting (shut up) and my brain-marbles were scrambled here and there and every place because (shut up) I….rammed my horn into a tree. There, I said it. My horn was currently inserted into a tree. Talk about bursting my ego. Not only was the tree singularly flashing the bird in the face of all my “conquest” but my horn had just started to grow too. It wasn’t a nub of cute baby nothing anymore; it was starting to get a point on it, starting to look sinister and dangerous and like some sort of weapon. And my dumbass decided to stab it into a…tree of all things. Such was my life. I dared not move, my head was pounding so much. It felt as though every movement of my neck and shoulders could cause my horn to snap from my skull (ow); the base of my horn was especially tender and throbbing (ooowhowhowjesus), and some corner of my mind started to reel in panic as I imagined that my horn would fall off and leave a wide open hole through which you could see my brains. The situations I’d get myself into, man. It…felt like hours before the brittle sensation left my forehead and I was able to contemplate leaving the smug tree. But as I attempted to pull the tip of my horn from the bark, the tender ache in my head returned (aahahahahow) and my horn refused to nudge from the trunk. I gave a tiny snort in surprise; once more I muscled through the pain and attempted to pull my horn, and once more my horn said “F-you” and refused to part ways with the tree. After the 5th attempt I resigned myself to the fruits of my hard-headed stupidity, sighing hard through my nose and lashing the stub of tail I owned. Because my horn was stuck in a tree. [Ranjiri first, please. Then everyone else is welcome <3 ] |
the Rift
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[OPEN] Trees Again
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| Messages In This Thread |
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Trees Again - by Roskuld - 05-19-2013, 09:50 PM
RE: Trees Again - by Ranjiri - 05-20-2013, 07:00 PM
RE: Trees Again - by Soren - 05-27-2013, 11:36 PM
RE: Trees Again - by Roskuld - 05-30-2013, 04:35 PM
RE: Trees Again - by Ranjiri - 06-16-2013, 08:58 PM
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