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i'm just a boat on the ocean
cakeThrough the months, as Bane had walked, as he had learned, he would write. Rarely did he re-read what he had written; it wasn't meant as a voice for the ages, but rather as a personal venting mechanism to keep his head screwed on straight. For too many months, the pills had been rare to come across and he had felt the adverse effects. Wartime was hard, and all suffered in one way or another. Bane's scars weren't physical, they were mental, and when he was high they were easy to ignore. On paper, they were obvious. Sometimes he burned the volumes for renewal. It cleansed the soul, the jackal-man had once said, laughing the laugh of a dying man.
cakePen in hand, the dark wolf sat on the beach, looking out towards the Bay of Fundy. The sun was setting and the water was restless, one of the few sounds breaking the silence. It was white noise and he barely noticed. Seagulls occasionally shrieked up above, and he ignored that as well. A pad of paper lay in the cold sand in front of him, virgin-white and waiting to be made into something. He had picked it up the day before in Halifax, and had planned to fill it within hours. But now, he simply looked at it, and as he looked, nothing came to him. Contemplating things was what he spent most of his days doing now. There was one thing that was on his mind more often than any other thing, but he would not put that to paper. Some thoughts were best left locked in the confines of ones' mind.
cakeDropping the pen, the broad-shouldered wolf leaned back on his arms, stretching his legs out before him. He believed in Fate, and in some small way this was important; maybe tonight, he simply wasn't meant to use the ink.
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