dynodynamite
Driven by fear to the corners of this world,
no room for you nor anything other that the stat.
Let everyone pound your soul out of you;
don't stand up for what you believe in.
Weakling.
You know you shouldn't let them take your power
the way you do
You force yourself to understand why they don't understand you.
You let their problem be your reason.
Weakling.
Knock, knock.
The pounding continues.
Knock, knock.
Without cease.
Knock, knock.
Anything to make it stop.
Anything.
Bleeding from a broken heart,
bleeding from a shove.
Bleeding from no acceptance,
Not even from above.
What would you lack?
Light glinted off of the wild eyes. Pictures, images, all moved with streaming grace around them. Music was being played intensely. This was not a moment for grins, for someone was about to be found a spy. Someone's love was about to be double crossed. The train station was about to collapse. Who could possibly save the moment from disaster?
The shell lay delicately on the sand. It was a piece of art unto itself, having undergone the weathering of the ocean, and the tread of small children. It was covered in mathematical patterns and pastel colors, enough to remind it's possesor of childhood memories of teh beach.
So magnificent was the canopy. It was made in the middle-ages, and was almost anachronistic. What would motivate some early renaissance craftman to create such a piece? What purpose did it have in decoration, so out of style it was for the time period.
The boots, the boots her father wore when he served in the army. The last image she had of him was him standing proudly, arms akimbo, in front of a tank. That was the last picture he sent to his family before she lost her father.