07-01-2011, 02:50 PM
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It took him a few seconds to process what she had said. Not who you thought I was… Of course not. It was foolish to think his own subconscious would take that much pity on him when he couldn’t even bring himself to look at his own reflection.
”I’m a lost soul, floating in a river of empty dreams into an ocean of this broken reality.” His voice was soft, hurt. His eyes were glossy, unfocused, and it seemed as if he were looking through her, rather than at her. Was she actually real, or was this ethereal haze taking control of the recesses of his mind, abusing him and toying with his boiling emotions? ”Are… are you a hallucination?” he asked, furrowing his brows at her.
He shook his head slowly, covering his forehead with his paw for a moment. ”I’m sorry. Of course not. No, no no no. Nothing of the sorts…” He remembered her inquiry. Who was he? He was an outcast, a drifter. He was lost, he was confused, and he was scared. He was high, and he was low. He was a failure, an embarrassment, a shell of the man he used to be. He was… ”Fjor. My name is Fjor.” The words were practically spat, his name spoken with a snarl of disapproval and self-hatred.
”I…. your name?” She was beautiful. Somewhere in his mind he recognized that. She was a fine example of womanhood. But looking at her, despite her ridiculous garb, he saw Natia reflected in his eyes. She was his world – and nothing could ever replace her, or even come close.
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It took him a few seconds to process what she had said. Not who you thought I was… Of course not. It was foolish to think his own subconscious would take that much pity on him when he couldn’t even bring himself to look at his own reflection.
”I’m a lost soul, floating in a river of empty dreams into an ocean of this broken reality.” His voice was soft, hurt. His eyes were glossy, unfocused, and it seemed as if he were looking through her, rather than at her. Was she actually real, or was this ethereal haze taking control of the recesses of his mind, abusing him and toying with his boiling emotions? ”Are… are you a hallucination?” he asked, furrowing his brows at her.
He shook his head slowly, covering his forehead with his paw for a moment. ”I’m sorry. Of course not. No, no no no. Nothing of the sorts…” He remembered her inquiry. Who was he? He was an outcast, a drifter. He was lost, he was confused, and he was scared. He was high, and he was low. He was a failure, an embarrassment, a shell of the man he used to be. He was… ”Fjor. My name is Fjor.” The words were practically spat, his name spoken with a snarl of disapproval and self-hatred.
”I…. your name?” She was beautiful. Somewhere in his mind he recognized that. She was a fine example of womanhood. But looking at her, despite her ridiculous garb, he saw Natia reflected in his eyes. She was his world – and nothing could ever replace her, or even come close.
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