Post by M a u s o l é e on Jan 7, 2007 21:20:54 GMT -5
I sighed. Oh what a sigh it was, in fact, I remembered that at least once in life, my friends had commented on how it sounded like broken dishes. Of course, we were talking over the phone, and maybe our connection was wacky or something. But there, she said it sounded like broken dishes. I had taken it badly at that point, though she showed me that 'Hey, sighing like broken dishes is cool,' and so I guess it stuck that way. I mumbled something as I pulled out an iPod - don't ask me where the hell I got this, it just sort of appeared (haha, okay it did), I'd just been rummaging through some old stuff of mine, and lo and behold, there was an iPod. I guess my old stuff wasn't that old. Oh well.
The sky was dark, and splotched. It was clearly night, and clouds floated creepily across the stars, banishing their beams and shrouding the moon in a disturbing veil. Fog littered the ground, surrounding trees, and rotating in an invisible fashion. So invisible, in fact, that when you did see the fume, you seemed to just randomly double-take it, to make sure it was there. I caught myself doing that a few times, actually. My iron-toed boots clinked gently on the asphalt as I strode along, quickly moving onto the grass, where instead of clinking, they left sharp little imprints in the sod. Not like I cared where I was treding, hell, it could have been a cross for all I cared. I think I'd have liked that.
Instead I jogged up to a tombstone and reached my leg back, kicking it swiftly. The iron on the toe of my boot (it was a lot of iron, which made the boot look very similar to a goat-hoof.), hit the stone with a sharp 'crack!' and the stone grew a thin line along either side of my foot, threatening to break it in half. Though it didn't, so I found myself now mad at the stone. So I kicked it again, and again, and by the fourth time, it snapped in half. Satisfied, I continued on, spotting the mausoleum. "Oh hey look," I mumbled to myself, "Dead people." Shaking my head, I found a tree and climbed up it. I like trees, I like sitting in them, waiting, and jumping on people, too. So this fit wonderfully.
The sky was dark, and splotched. It was clearly night, and clouds floated creepily across the stars, banishing their beams and shrouding the moon in a disturbing veil. Fog littered the ground, surrounding trees, and rotating in an invisible fashion. So invisible, in fact, that when you did see the fume, you seemed to just randomly double-take it, to make sure it was there. I caught myself doing that a few times, actually. My iron-toed boots clinked gently on the asphalt as I strode along, quickly moving onto the grass, where instead of clinking, they left sharp little imprints in the sod. Not like I cared where I was treding, hell, it could have been a cross for all I cared. I think I'd have liked that.
Instead I jogged up to a tombstone and reached my leg back, kicking it swiftly. The iron on the toe of my boot (it was a lot of iron, which made the boot look very similar to a goat-hoof.), hit the stone with a sharp 'crack!' and the stone grew a thin line along either side of my foot, threatening to break it in half. Though it didn't, so I found myself now mad at the stone. So I kicked it again, and again, and by the fourth time, it snapped in half. Satisfied, I continued on, spotting the mausoleum. "Oh hey look," I mumbled to myself, "Dead people." Shaking my head, I found a tree and climbed up it. I like trees, I like sitting in them, waiting, and jumping on people, too. So this fit wonderfully.
