12-17-2007, 12:51 AM
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The little blue house sat tucked in line next to the same house in multiple colors, all of which were washed out by years of neglect. The yards were small patches of over grown weeds, gone brown and brittle from winters chill. She had grown fond of sitting on the steps of the house, leaning against the paint-peeled door frame. It was there on the cookie-cutter street in the midst of the fallen city where she played the scenarios of home back through her thoughts over and over again. In the eyes of her mind she formulated excuses for her actions and angry myths of the actions of those two sorry creatures who named themselves alphas...So twisted had she become. Only when she noticed her neck had cramped into one position did she ever really move. It was like she was becoming part of the cityscape, body first, followed by mind and soul.
The alien landscape had taken another strange push into India's mind. Almost daily she was pushing herself through the slow process of shifting, calmly as she thought of darker things. It was like therapy, changing her body while changing her mind. She felt as though the two sides of herself were pulling apart more and more, and she felt better that way. The past in that strange form, the present and future in the comfort of her body. When shifted she took time to rummage through the house, finding little trinkets, papers with writing, photographs of those alien human creatures that stared back at her from beyond their graves. She named them. The little humans in the large photograph above the fireplace was her favorite with eight eyes staring at her. Her seclusion forced her to speak to them to keep herself from always living in silence. There were many beds in the house, and the fabric on them fit together like puzzle pieces. The house was left untouched, as if they merely walked away. The kitchen held those strange metal cylinders, stacked on shelves and tucked away in drawers. She even broke a few, spilling their contents on floor. Some of the cans tasted descent while others weren't appealing at all. She adapted herself to the house in her shifted form. She joked in her mind that the aliens were taking over.
The rest of her days were spent wandering around. Pushing past forgotten pieces of other lives, or delving into the forest around. She walked farther and farther every day until she felt the need to turn and go back the way she came. Always in a new direction, always empty handed. She ran into few, avoided others. Her existence was ghost-like, caught up in itself, and empty. The day she lit out for another walk she was planning on cleaning the house she called hers. Something about the clutter seemed unnecessary, unpleasant, and unneeded. The trees she passed, though unplanned seemed to fit perfect no matter how cluttered they became. The difference was amusing.
She wandered out again. Into the silent wilderness caught in passing hours of every day. Her head was low, eyes foggy in thought, her movements mechanical. She was losing the elegance taught by her parents. It wasn't that it was lost but merely useless. The extra extension of the front legs, the carefully curling of the paw and gentle placement afterwards, she new the movement, gait, and look. No reason anymore. She lashed against the rough bark of the tree with human like hands. She shifted suddenly, leaving her a bit light headed. The memories of the past spilled up right when she thought they were under control. Violent clawing left the tree bruised and bleeding with sap. Her eyes were hyper focused at the ripping of bark. The rough snapping and splintering seemed necessary, good, and in the back of her mind, evil.[/html]
The little blue house sat tucked in line next to the same house in multiple colors, all of which were washed out by years of neglect. The yards were small patches of over grown weeds, gone brown and brittle from winters chill. She had grown fond of sitting on the steps of the house, leaning against the paint-peeled door frame. It was there on the cookie-cutter street in the midst of the fallen city where she played the scenarios of home back through her thoughts over and over again. In the eyes of her mind she formulated excuses for her actions and angry myths of the actions of those two sorry creatures who named themselves alphas...So twisted had she become. Only when she noticed her neck had cramped into one position did she ever really move. It was like she was becoming part of the cityscape, body first, followed by mind and soul.
The alien landscape had taken another strange push into India's mind. Almost daily she was pushing herself through the slow process of shifting, calmly as she thought of darker things. It was like therapy, changing her body while changing her mind. She felt as though the two sides of herself were pulling apart more and more, and she felt better that way. The past in that strange form, the present and future in the comfort of her body. When shifted she took time to rummage through the house, finding little trinkets, papers with writing, photographs of those alien human creatures that stared back at her from beyond their graves. She named them. The little humans in the large photograph above the fireplace was her favorite with eight eyes staring at her. Her seclusion forced her to speak to them to keep herself from always living in silence. There were many beds in the house, and the fabric on them fit together like puzzle pieces. The house was left untouched, as if they merely walked away. The kitchen held those strange metal cylinders, stacked on shelves and tucked away in drawers. She even broke a few, spilling their contents on floor. Some of the cans tasted descent while others weren't appealing at all. She adapted herself to the house in her shifted form. She joked in her mind that the aliens were taking over.
The rest of her days were spent wandering around. Pushing past forgotten pieces of other lives, or delving into the forest around. She walked farther and farther every day until she felt the need to turn and go back the way she came. Always in a new direction, always empty handed. She ran into few, avoided others. Her existence was ghost-like, caught up in itself, and empty. The day she lit out for another walk she was planning on cleaning the house she called hers. Something about the clutter seemed unnecessary, unpleasant, and unneeded. The trees she passed, though unplanned seemed to fit perfect no matter how cluttered they became. The difference was amusing.
She wandered out again. Into the silent wilderness caught in passing hours of every day. Her head was low, eyes foggy in thought, her movements mechanical. She was losing the elegance taught by her parents. It wasn't that it was lost but merely useless. The extra extension of the front legs, the carefully curling of the paw and gentle placement afterwards, she new the movement, gait, and look. No reason anymore. She lashed against the rough bark of the tree with human like hands. She shifted suddenly, leaving her a bit light headed. The memories of the past spilled up right when she thought they were under control. Violent clawing left the tree bruised and bleeding with sap. Her eyes were hyper focused at the ripping of bark. The rough snapping and splintering seemed necessary, good, and in the back of her mind, evil.