01-30-2008, 06:18 AM
[html]I wish you'd do it again
I'll watch you leave here limping
The Concrete Jungle was an intriguing thing to the boy. It was likely so with most puppies — it was, after all, a large maze of crippled buildings and faulted structures. Yet, he found interest in the shadows of the place, in the darkness of the alleys; he found an unusual sense of satisfaction when he saw a wounded house, its glass eyes shattered, impure water wearing crooked veins in the foundation. The sight was almost pretty, and why he though such a thing, he didn't know; the indigo depths strayed to structure after structure, taking in the broken features without reason. He was content with doing so, although the whole thing was not what one would call exciting.
St. Paul's Episcopa was, perhaps, the most grasping of sights. The church sat above a small slope, the area before it covered in gravestones; the carefully carved pieces were littered throughout the snow, some chipped, some shattered, some fresh and less blemished. Pawprints marked his trail as he entered the church, claws scratching against the wooden floor. Broken glass, wood chips and various other things — some of which he decided not to name, for fear of what it might end up being — were scattered along the floor, building up in the corners. The boy stepped forward gingerly, staring up at a window, which had some of its colourful glass still intact. Moonlight streamed through, and the colours stained the floor and his fur various shades of vibrancy. He smiled as the colours danced across the floor.
[/html]
The Concrete Jungle was an intriguing thing to the boy. It was likely so with most puppies — it was, after all, a large maze of crippled buildings and faulted structures. Yet, he found interest in the shadows of the place, in the darkness of the alleys; he found an unusual sense of satisfaction when he saw a wounded house, its glass eyes shattered, impure water wearing crooked veins in the foundation. The sight was almost pretty, and why he though such a thing, he didn't know; the indigo depths strayed to structure after structure, taking in the broken features without reason. He was content with doing so, although the whole thing was not what one would call exciting.
St. Paul's Episcopa was, perhaps, the most grasping of sights. The church sat above a small slope, the area before it covered in gravestones; the carefully carved pieces were littered throughout the snow, some chipped, some shattered, some fresh and less blemished. Pawprints marked his trail as he entered the church, claws scratching against the wooden floor. Broken glass, wood chips and various other things — some of which he decided not to name, for fear of what it might end up being — were scattered along the floor, building up in the corners. The boy stepped forward gingerly, staring up at a window, which had some of its colourful glass still intact. Moonlight streamed through, and the colours stained the floor and his fur various shades of vibrancy. He smiled as the colours danced across the floor.
[/html]