Post by Zanefera on Apr 8, 2008 19:12:51 GMT -5
T R E P I D A T I O N
where is the life we lost in living?
There's death in the heart of one who would willingly take a life for no reason but to claim that they did. There is a hopelessness in that soul, based on the fact that death is always at the killer's heels, waiting for a chance to strike he who would steal death's job. Death has no job but to take life, and it is very jealous when it comes to this job. There is always a silent smirk in it's irritative reality, for it knows that it can always exact the rightful revenge on anyone who decides to take over it's one purpose. There is tricker in death's mind, for it is always seeking out new cunning and spiteful ways to take the life from the living. It is always striking fear into one mind or another, every second of the day, and it always will, until the end of eternity. But, dear friends, there will always be an ally to death. There will always be one whom death smiles upon, one who aids death, but does not take the joy from death. One who find contentedness in the torture of others, no matter how others may frown upon it. One who can always seem to find the happiness in the bottomless glooms of life, and the violent trickeries of life. One who, for all their time on earth, will never waver from their consistent horror and havoc wreaking ways. And though, in all the time you may trod upon the desolate place called earth, though in all that time, you may only come upon one, you will never forget that one. They all have ways of imprinting their sadistic violence in the memories of those they wish to remember them. And that, my friend, is why it is called Trepidation, a fear beyond that of most others, but not nearly as feared as death. Though, does it seek to be a feared as death?
That is brought to light for the very fact that a creature had trodden into the bleak terrain. The sky was dark, clouds rolling swiftly in that way that they do. The thunder sounded out, a rumbling noise, but void of the lightning and rain, which surely would have helped it's fearsome arrival. This creature picked it's way, in a bobbing movement, through the dry terrain, it's sockets flickering from cloud to cloud, as though seeing some bright and vivid rainbow through the gloomy paleness. The trees waved slightly with the thin wind and cast their shadows over the dun form, who's thin hooves picked over the sticks and settled into the sod quickly, before lifting back up in a sluggish motion, and pulling the beast forward. Black locks flickered and swayed against the chorded neck and rump, somehow managing to remain untangled. A slight skull dipped down, as the being took in a deep breath, it's nostrils flaring and de-flaring as it exhaled. A thin, mis-shapen blaze trailed down the beings dial, ending quite abruptly inches before it's nostrils. Scars speckled the right side of it's rump, all thin and speaking of no large war, but small battles of in-consequence. This fiend allowed a whicker of a snort to taint the air in one of those deep exhaling motions, as it came to an abrupt stop, just between the shadows of the tall trees and the little light that scattered here and there through the cracks of the thick clouds. A shiver ran down the whole of her spine, yes her, as what would seem a grin, flickered to her lips upon spying the dark shadows that covered the path ahead.
What would it feel like to have one of those small battles on the path ahead? How should she relish the moments of staring into someone's trepidation filled sockets, as they knew that she wouldn't kill them. As they knew that she would do all, but grant them a wish for death. How would her spine tingle as the snapping of frail bones, at the crunching of that's that weren't meant to be broken? Did she care that all her met her violent ways were smaller or of equal size? Of course not. She wasn't trying to prove that she was better than someone, or that she could defend herself. She was not trying to gain power, though it would be all the better for her if she received it inadvertently. She was simply pleasuring herself with much need entertainment, and that meant doing whatever it took to get it. And her grin slipped into inexistent, as what could be described as nothing less than a smirk, flickered to her lips, which pursed only slightly accept the emotions. Tender brows lifted slightly, as she looked on, those dark sockets seeming to look at nothing but see everything, all at once. She was not the most violent creature out there, but that did not matter to her. Her ways were her own, and that was what kept her on the path she trod. Neck arched, uncharacteristically, as she inhaled the scent of the storm that, at that very moment, was raging above her, and demanding it's moment of trepidation and glory. Who was she to ignore such a fretful storm? Who was she to not relish in the divine rage that could brew up out of nowhere, and destroy all it willed within moment? Oh to be the storm, to travel to different places so quickly, wreak devastation so quickly, and roll on, never-ending, always adored or hated, but always. Just always.
doll ; Trepidation
count ; 948
script ; Leaking Life : A Leach's Tale
setting ; Pre-Storm
stage ; Greeting Grounds
mood ; reflective , spiteful
