Exit Does Not Exist
04-29-2013, 10:34 PM
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Or so hideous The rain pelted against his exposed skin, sliding off and dripping from the stump he called a leg. He sat as still as a statue, his head hung as he looked into the now disturbed water of the delta before him. He enjoyed the rain,the way it cleared his thought in a lukewarm embrace of sound and sensation. The thunder rolled in his ears, over the gentle hum of water against earth, calming him, lulling him into a deep trance where he could remember,ever so clearly, warm humid summers with his wife, coiled against each other in a packed down clay den, watching droplets fall from the roof of his home. At some point he had started to cry. Something barely noticeable in the rain, but the sensation of warm water on his muzzle told no lies. He was crying again. Hurt by his own memories more than stones or bites ever could. Old eyes raised slowly along with his heavy cranium and looked straight onto the horizon. What was out there? What could possibly e waiting for him now? After everything he had been through, would the spirits see to it that he was somehow repaid? That he would be rewarded for his suffering? It was impossible to tell. Speech |
| table by boo, image by hun |
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