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08-12-2013, 10:33 AM
You walk, huge footprint after huge footprint following behind you. The moon is up. The sun should have been up hours ago. You don't know why it's not and you're a little concerned. Well, a lot concerned. But you don't have time to worry about it. Right now, you've got more important things on your mind. You've just been nosing through the bag you wear over your right shoulder. You ate one of the plants you keep there about an hour ago. There are only two or three vines left. That's what you're worried about. You don't need the vines. Well, at least there's nothing physical tying you to them. There are no signs of detox when you don't take them, but not every need is physical.
The more you walk, the more dense the trees become. You've been walking slowly and methodically- the plants always make your steps a little uncertain. Suddenly a twig cracks. You throw your head up, wild eyes turning to the sound. Your ears stay surprisingly neutral, though. You're not afraid of the noise- you've just got a flair for the dramatic. In flailing your head about, your forget to look where you're going. Your huge hoof catches on a root that is rising above the ground and you stumble ungracefully forward. You don't fall, but that doesn't mean you're not pissed. Your left hind hoof strikes out viciously, massive hoof striking the base of the tree that dare have roots. The hit reverberates up your leg but the feeling doesn't mean much to you right now.
You're volatile. You've always had an attitude problem. The addiction hasn't helped it at all. Seeing the bottom of your tan satchel bag because there are few plants there is making it worse. You don't even know when or how the addiction started. You just started to realize you need the creeping vine in your life. You became more erratic and unsocial. Your herd ignored you at first, thinking it would go away. It didn't. The stronger the hold the vine took on you, the more your herd shunned you. Until one day you were told to leave and never return. There was no ceremony, no goodbyes. They just told you to leave and so you started walking... and walking... and walking. That's how you got here, searching in the moonlight to find locoweed.
The more you walk, the more dense the trees become. You've been walking slowly and methodically- the plants always make your steps a little uncertain. Suddenly a twig cracks. You throw your head up, wild eyes turning to the sound. Your ears stay surprisingly neutral, though. You're not afraid of the noise- you've just got a flair for the dramatic. In flailing your head about, your forget to look where you're going. Your huge hoof catches on a root that is rising above the ground and you stumble ungracefully forward. You don't fall, but that doesn't mean you're not pissed. Your left hind hoof strikes out viciously, massive hoof striking the base of the tree that dare have roots. The hit reverberates up your leg but the feeling doesn't mean much to you right now.
You're volatile. You've always had an attitude problem. The addiction hasn't helped it at all. Seeing the bottom of your tan satchel bag because there are few plants there is making it worse. You don't even know when or how the addiction started. You just started to realize you need the creeping vine in your life. You became more erratic and unsocial. Your herd ignored you at first, thinking it would go away. It didn't. The stronger the hold the vine took on you, the more your herd shunned you. Until one day you were told to leave and never return. There was no ceremony, no goodbyes. They just told you to leave and so you started walking... and walking... and walking. That's how you got here, searching in the moonlight to find locoweed.
