Post by horseshoe on Jan 26, 2009 21:58:41 GMT -5
PROLOGUE ONLY. PLEASE READ AND CRITIQUE. THANKS.
Like skin draped across bones, a curtain hanging in the window of a house that's been dead for years. A demonic smirk was splayed wide 'cross his thin lips, freshly painted in crimson blood. Noir hair slashed through his hinting green eyes, wanting whomever dared challenge his belonging. Nostrils flared, red tinged teeth dragging his lower lip betwixt them and grinding slowly. The crowd of minglers and troublemakers stumbled backwards, a few tripping not only on their own feet but others as well as they struggled to maintain eye contact with the maimed boy. Inwardly he cringed as he placed his palms against the tossed soil, the fragments of rock polluting the cuts on his hands. Pushing himself upwards to where he was standing awkwardly, he convinced himself to be perceived as strong. He's not a hero; he's not even going to live long enough to be thought of as a villain. His first step was a stumble, and he crashed to one knee. Regaining his stance, he walked on, his shoulders stretched and his head high. Agony and sheer pain rippled through his entire body, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. This was the one moment in his life where he wasn't going to be treated like dirt, even if his body was covered in it. Messy wounds will heal, and he knows he can't stop now.
Aren't you glad this isn't your life's story?
[this was completely and honestly random. O.O I have no idea where it even came from.]