The Sharpest Lives
08-28-2014, 10:55 PM
Words As Weapons - Seether
Large paws made their way along the bank of the river as the Bitter Heart made his way across the surface of the earth. It was morning, early morning. Light had made its way to the sky but the sun still hadn't breached the horizon. This was the wolf's favorite time of day. Everything had certain glow to it. The sky was painted with such colors. Like the world was on fire. The notion appealed to him. These corrupt and broken world having the sickness burnt out of it. But then, if such a thing ever happened, then wolves like him would have no place in what rose up out of the ashes. So in the end, this was what he had to live with. This was what he was meant for. To bear witness to horror and not blink. No. In all honesty, he got a thrill out of calling something wrong. He liked being alone because it kept him from having to feel attachment. He didn't have love in his heart anymore for attachment. Now the only thing that he really loved anymore was to see the look on someone's face when they saw his empty soul. For all his want to do no harm, that was the one thing that reminded him he was not a good creature, but rather a monster like all the other wolves who could survive this diseased world.
He liked to see others hate him.
He did know fear, though. It was fear that stayed his paw. If he ever did act upon this world, he knew just how fast the monster would take over. Seeing someone defeated before you was more addicting then any drug. And for that, he saw an awful lot to minding his own damn businesses. This was clear as he walked along the river bank, his dull yellow eyes void of emotion. His ears still and forward, tail hanging behind him, and mouth nothing more than a line on his face. His steps measured and even. It was hard to live in this world when you wanted nothing more than to be the living embodiment of anger.
Large paws made their way along the bank of the river as the Bitter Heart made his way across the surface of the earth. It was morning, early morning. Light had made its way to the sky but the sun still hadn't breached the horizon. This was the wolf's favorite time of day. Everything had certain glow to it. The sky was painted with such colors. Like the world was on fire. The notion appealed to him. These corrupt and broken world having the sickness burnt out of it. But then, if such a thing ever happened, then wolves like him would have no place in what rose up out of the ashes. So in the end, this was what he had to live with. This was what he was meant for. To bear witness to horror and not blink. No. In all honesty, he got a thrill out of calling something wrong. He liked being alone because it kept him from having to feel attachment. He didn't have love in his heart anymore for attachment. Now the only thing that he really loved anymore was to see the look on someone's face when they saw his empty soul. For all his want to do no harm, that was the one thing that reminded him he was not a good creature, but rather a monster like all the other wolves who could survive this diseased world.
He liked to see others hate him.
He did know fear, though. It was fear that stayed his paw. If he ever did act upon this world, he knew just how fast the monster would take over. Seeing someone defeated before you was more addicting then any drug. And for that, he saw an awful lot to minding his own damn businesses. This was clear as he walked along the river bank, his dull yellow eyes void of emotion. His ears still and forward, tail hanging behind him, and mouth nothing more than a line on his face. His steps measured and even. It was hard to live in this world when you wanted nothing more than to be the living embodiment of anger.