11-12-2010, 03:13 AM
[html]what i wanna know is why you keep me hanging [/html]
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There was something wrong in his head—some integral screw loose that ruined the fluid mechanical workings of his internal machine. It was subtle at times, well veiled, and yet it ate away at him, tearing at his insides and distracting his thoughts, consuming them. Staring into a broken mirror, outside the weather overcast and the afternoon light muted and desaturated, he thrust the needle quickly through his ear, embracing the cold shock of pain that accompanied the motion. Through this he pushed a silver ring—another piercing—which he twisted about, ensuring free movement. Penitence, his entire life was penitence for a sin that he hadn’t committed, passed on down through his family line. And now it was his turn to endure such a life as his father had done before him, and so on. For all he knew it was nothing more than madness or lies, but some internal force clawed at him, reminding him that bad things would happen if he tried to live normally.
Piercing and mutilating his body with brands and burns was only a small measure serving as reminder, as his mother had begun when he was but an infant. He was tainted, impure, and everything that he touched would contaminate him. Seating himself outside on the front steps of the small house, he watched the sky, breathing in the cold winter air and exhaling a pale plume of frozen breath. Clothing was minimal, for his coat was thick and efficient, and this post honestly doesn’t say much, for its length. Removing a small knife and his carved flute from his belongings he began to whittle at the rough surface, smoothing it to a closer, finer finish.
There was something wrong in his head—some integral screw loose that ruined the fluid mechanical workings of his internal machine. It was subtle at times, well veiled, and yet it ate away at him, tearing at his insides and distracting his thoughts, consuming them. Staring into a broken mirror, outside the weather overcast and the afternoon light muted and desaturated, he thrust the needle quickly through his ear, embracing the cold shock of pain that accompanied the motion. Through this he pushed a silver ring—another piercing—which he twisted about, ensuring free movement. Penitence, his entire life was penitence for a sin that he hadn’t committed, passed on down through his family line. And now it was his turn to endure such a life as his father had done before him, and so on. For all he knew it was nothing more than madness or lies, but some internal force clawed at him, reminding him that bad things would happen if he tried to live normally.
Piercing and mutilating his body with brands and burns was only a small measure serving as reminder, as his mother had begun when he was but an infant. He was tainted, impure, and everything that he touched would contaminate him. Seating himself outside on the front steps of the small house, he watched the sky, breathing in the cold winter air and exhaling a pale plume of frozen breath. Clothing was minimal, for his coat was thick and efficient, and this post honestly doesn’t say much, for its length. Removing a small knife and his carved flute from his belongings he began to whittle at the rough surface, smoothing it to a closer, finer finish.