lovelyknight
A clean, air conditioned, recycled oxygen wasteland.
A wealth of science and technology.
A barren, heartless, strange place with too many voices that weren't human,
too many pointless, self destructive things.
It was almost good
enough but that's never quite
there--
So many people have closed their minds to the world, to other people, to love, to life. The mind is a place of infinite possibilities, they say. Some people deny this by limiting themselves, other people, locking doors and burning bridges and kicking in staircases until there's nothing left but a little. Crumpled. Thing.
That they call themself. That they call you. Isn't it sad?
If they opened the door, the whole world would meet them, an endless sea of colour and light.
She didn't know what to do with affection. She wasn't really used to the idea of anyone caring about her as she was now- she regarded them as irrelevant, and they chased her to lock her up and pin her down.
But maybe she really did need it, she pondered as she studied a worn teddy bear. Perhaps everyone needed it, as they needed the gentle light of the sunrise.
"Duck?"
"Duck."
"Duck like get down for your life or small waterfowl?"
I used to have- I do have, a lovely stuffed mallard, with a golden watch round it's neck. Mallards have always been my favorite, with their splashes of color. That mallard was my constant companion as a child in Texas.
Cowboy? Out in the dust and the rain and the lightning storms on ponies made of stone and wind and blood? Rough and tough and long gone. Also part of the 1800s, last I checked, a rather unfortunate part of the textbook thus far, but they haven't entered on set yet. Dust on the wind?