10-28-2010, 01:58 AM
[html]what i wanna know is why you keep me hanging [/html]
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Lightning continued to flash in the distance, thunder quietly following suit, though the storm had since passed over the immediate area. The sand was wet and churned up, and the ocean revolted against the sky, crashing against the shore in its rage. The rain was nothing more than a soft drizzle, falling gently in occasional droplets, reminding the earth of the heaven’s might. He walked along the coast, peering out across the waves with crimson eyes. Dark clouds hung above oppressively, like a ceiling over the sea, pressing down all around.
It was dawn, but it may as well have been midnight for all of the light that the clouds let pass through them. The silver bracelets on his wrist jingled quietly in the calm that followed the storm, broken only by a low, distant rumble. Debris had washed up on the sand—driftwood, seaweed, and dead, decaying sea life in minimal amounts—and these he observed in silent contemplation. In his back pocket was a nearly finished flute that he’d been carving from wood.
This he removed before seating himself on the wet sand, facing the ocean and turning the crudely whittled thing around in his clawed hands. He’d never been particularly good at this, but he was learning and growing every day through experience. Placing the end to his lips, he blew gently, allowing a sweet, shrill sound to rise on the air, yet undulating with the electrical currents residual from the now distant storm. Fingers covering holes, he played different notes, testing his little piece of work.
Lightning continued to flash in the distance, thunder quietly following suit, though the storm had since passed over the immediate area. The sand was wet and churned up, and the ocean revolted against the sky, crashing against the shore in its rage. The rain was nothing more than a soft drizzle, falling gently in occasional droplets, reminding the earth of the heaven’s might. He walked along the coast, peering out across the waves with crimson eyes. Dark clouds hung above oppressively, like a ceiling over the sea, pressing down all around.
It was dawn, but it may as well have been midnight for all of the light that the clouds let pass through them. The silver bracelets on his wrist jingled quietly in the calm that followed the storm, broken only by a low, distant rumble. Debris had washed up on the sand—driftwood, seaweed, and dead, decaying sea life in minimal amounts—and these he observed in silent contemplation. In his back pocket was a nearly finished flute that he’d been carving from wood.
This he removed before seating himself on the wet sand, facing the ocean and turning the crudely whittled thing around in his clawed hands. He’d never been particularly good at this, but he was learning and growing every day through experience. Placing the end to his lips, he blew gently, allowing a sweet, shrill sound to rise on the air, yet undulating with the electrical currents residual from the now distant storm. Fingers covering holes, he played different notes, testing his little piece of work.