Post by Blind Seer on Jul 7, 2007 13:12:13 GMT -5
he knew affection, once. dead, dead, all of them dead. haha, should've seen them, drop like sacks, flesh rotted, flies eating, maggots. got to like the maggots as they dig into the skin, eat the flesh. yum yum. like wolves, maggots. call 'em maggots. that'll get them down.
he knew hatred, once. love lost, never found, mind reeling as the world implodes. oh yes, he saw his own death. saw it and loved it. savored every moment of it as he grinned with sickly fangs and ate a piece of his own death. yes yes, it's what saved him, really. eat. he ate. drink. he drank their blood. he became the sickness, it ate itself, left him alive. mind shattered. it happens sometimes. especially to those who think too much, feel too much. hate too much. he groaned, feeling the headache split apart his skull, leaving him empty. the pain set him off. hackles were raised high on his shoulders, his eyes glowing with a gross malevolent intention as he raced off into the terra. the images crowded him. they consumed him.
Blind Seer almost accepted them. mine, mine, mine. he growled, his voice growing higher, louder, stronger. the anger buoyed him past the pain. he had learned that early in life. break past the pain, for beyond it lay freedom. he broke the wall, fled from the pain and laughed. he became the pain, and laughed. a chaffing sound that irked the ears.
yes, yes, he thought, thinking of flesh, of the darkness that would consume those who got too close. diseased. sickened. mental if not physical. yet. he was strong though, far stronger than he should be for one so unpredictable, for one so inclined toward violence. his laughter was painful to behold. his eyes, feverish with lust. he wanted to do so many things, so many conflicting emotions clashing together.
hackles raised he plunged into the terra. no stench of wolves. nothing. there was nothing here. he liked it. the silence, the very way his heartbeat pulsed in tune with the forest. he loved it. adored it. wanted it. it was his, now. none others. he would die for it, eat it alive. eat those inside if they tried to harm it. it was his. the albino wolf could not hold back the howl as it forced its way through his diaphragm, pushed up. his throat bled, scraped, the sound was forceful, powerful. angry.
his howl was a challenge, daring any one to test his strength, for even in the midst of his mental retardation, he was strong, he was in his prime, his muscles limber, his claws and fangs sharp. he wanted to taste the blood, wanted to feel it as it slid down his throat. want. it was such a primal thing. to want. it wasn't even necessity. no, this wolf just wanted the land. it was his now.
the possessive air engulfed him. Blind Seer wanted someone to come to challenge so he could rip them apart. he was hungry. the emotions shut off, distracted by the little thought. hungry. he sniffed. smelt the prey. licked his lips. turned away.
it was his.
he knew hatred, once. love lost, never found, mind reeling as the world implodes. oh yes, he saw his own death. saw it and loved it. savored every moment of it as he grinned with sickly fangs and ate a piece of his own death. yes yes, it's what saved him, really. eat. he ate. drink. he drank their blood. he became the sickness, it ate itself, left him alive. mind shattered. it happens sometimes. especially to those who think too much, feel too much. hate too much. he groaned, feeling the headache split apart his skull, leaving him empty. the pain set him off. hackles were raised high on his shoulders, his eyes glowing with a gross malevolent intention as he raced off into the terra. the images crowded him. they consumed him.
Blind Seer almost accepted them. mine, mine, mine. he growled, his voice growing higher, louder, stronger. the anger buoyed him past the pain. he had learned that early in life. break past the pain, for beyond it lay freedom. he broke the wall, fled from the pain and laughed. he became the pain, and laughed. a chaffing sound that irked the ears.
yes, yes, he thought, thinking of flesh, of the darkness that would consume those who got too close. diseased. sickened. mental if not physical. yet. he was strong though, far stronger than he should be for one so unpredictable, for one so inclined toward violence. his laughter was painful to behold. his eyes, feverish with lust. he wanted to do so many things, so many conflicting emotions clashing together.
hackles raised he plunged into the terra. no stench of wolves. nothing. there was nothing here. he liked it. the silence, the very way his heartbeat pulsed in tune with the forest. he loved it. adored it. wanted it. it was his, now. none others. he would die for it, eat it alive. eat those inside if they tried to harm it. it was his. the albino wolf could not hold back the howl as it forced its way through his diaphragm, pushed up. his throat bled, scraped, the sound was forceful, powerful. angry.
his howl was a challenge, daring any one to test his strength, for even in the midst of his mental retardation, he was strong, he was in his prime, his muscles limber, his claws and fangs sharp. he wanted to taste the blood, wanted to feel it as it slid down his throat. want. it was such a primal thing. to want. it wasn't even necessity. no, this wolf just wanted the land. it was his now.
the possessive air engulfed him. Blind Seer wanted someone to come to challenge so he could rip them apart. he was hungry. the emotions shut off, distracted by the little thought. hungry. he sniffed. smelt the prey. licked his lips. turned away.
it was his.
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