and i found love where it wasn't supposed to be; any

[munroe]

I'm sorry I'm such a bully, Ima :|

MUNROE. The wild child felt ill at ease today. His foxy companions were subdued and nervous and remained inclined to not venture far from their burrow. This was unusual for they were often content to travel about the many dunes of the kingdom, accompanying him about on his never-ending explorations. Their worries set his teeth on edge and he tensely paced about below a nearby towering dune. He wondered if Ima was within his vicinity. Munroe was aware that she was constantly moving about the vast kingdom as part of her duties. But he could really use the reassurance and comfort that her presence always gave to him. She was the stitches that kept him together and the balm to his aching soul. She had pulled him up out of the depths of hell time and time again. Nervous hazel eyes happen to glance up in time to see a dark shape circling the desert sky – a wispy flaming black bird joyously dipping about. Sudden resounding explosions began to erupt from beneath the golden sands and he rushes up the top of the dune in order to find the source of such a grand disturbance. It was something he had never seen before - a figure that perhaps gaily traversed through the nightmares of most. His footing is easily lost when another explosion sets off beside his frame; thick sheets of glass jut alongside his body and push his center of balance towards the bottom of the dune once more. He lingers but a moment on the precipice, pierced by the jagged edges, before his momentum drives him off and he's rolling down the large dune like a tumbleweed helplessly caught in the wind. He’s literally rolled right into the enemy’s line of sight. Crumpled and entangled within his limbs, he struggles to get his feet beneath him. He remembers the feeling of being torn apart and dragged through the mud. Of the humiliation and the despair. Of giving up all hope. These were all memories he’s unconsciously been protecting himself from. Even through the agonizing pain, Munroe was well aware how defenseless he would be when compared to this invader. It seemed a lifetime before he finally stood up. The glass had been angling upwards and for the most part cleared his vital organs and even his spinal cord. But there was no denying the fact that he had been stabbed by a large sharp weapon. Blood was flowing freely over his sand-encrusted skin and perhaps his lung had been nicked for his breathing had quickly become labored. A hacking, wet cough revealed even more blood and bleary, confused eyes gazed at the monster before him. He had merely been caught in the crossfire of a severe temper tantrum. But one’s anger always led to dire consequences. Fate never could release the wild child from her cold-hearted grasp.