12-12-2017, 07:27 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Amatic+SC" rel="stylesheet"><center><style> .dontwannabeanamericanidiot {background-image: url('https://s8.postimg.org/vpu0xvhlh/babadook2.jpg'); width: 534px; height: 821px; border: 4px black double; box-shadow: 0px 0px 50px black inset; padding-top: 20px;} .guns22guns {background-image:url('https://78.media.tumblr.com/3d9385e895066fed0b949cc0d146c61b/tumblr_ozrvyd1nVK1w1ai4so1_500.jpg'); background-size: 150%; background-position: right; height: 300px; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-color: black; width: 300px; border-radius: 100%; border: black 5px double; box-shadow: 0px 0px 50px black inset;} .iwasjustanonlychildoftheuniverse {background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.9); width: 460px; overflow: auto; height: 440px; color: gray; font-family: georgia, serif; line-height: 1.3em; font-size: 0.9em; text-align: justify; padding: 20px; border: 1px dotted #191818;} .iwasjustanonlychildoftheuniverse::-webkit-scrollbar {width: 8px;} .iwasjustanonlychildoftheuniverse::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb {background-image:url('https://s8.postimg.org/ecjqj06ut/babadook3.jpg'); background-size: fill;}</style><div class="dontwannabeanamericanidiot"><center><div class="guns22guns"></div><div style="color: #555; font-size: 3em; margin-top: -45px; text-shadow: -1px -1px black, -1px -1px black; font-family: 'amatic sc', cursive; letter-spacing: 0.1em; text-transform: uppercase;">Babadook</div></center><div class="iwasjustanonlychildoftheuniverse">Darkness has a way of playing games on those who delve deep into its embrace. There’s something magical about the way the mind works when light ceases to shine its light. Babadook has experienced the tricks of the shadows many times before (the ominous threat of a bear looming above him only to be a tree, the sliding tendrils of a snake wrapping around his ankles only to be a wandering vine, the sharp slices of a creature’s fangs on his shoulder only to be a thicket of poking underbrush) yet time and time again his terror overrides his ability to rationalize.
He is already on edge from the spooks of his own imagination. So when the sound of the twig cracking echos in his ear, Babadook is already seeing the looming, menacing creatures in the dark corners of the shadows. A shameless cry is thrown out of his cracked lips and he closes his dark eyes despite not even knowing what he is scared of. His muscles tighten instinctively and he crouches low to the ground (an action he performs swiftly, having done it many times before in the presence of his annoyed mother).
There is no sound but a quiet, gentle panting. Babadook raises his head quietly from where it was bent between his knees, eyes blurry as he opens them. There is a murky, ivory shape that eventually sharpens into the form of a small wolf. At first, panic flies through Babadook’s chest with all the quickness and ferocity of a shooting star. But it dims when he realizes the wolf is a young one — just past the softness of childhood.
The wolf is formed of snow, Babadook realizes, and his brow furrows as he notes the air is exceptionally warm. Yet he does not melt into the soil and his crystalline body is a swirl of snow and ice. Sharp ice teeth poke through his lips and his eyes are a deep sky blue. His two little ears sit perched, twisting in Babadook’s direction.
<b>“Oh.”</b> The colt rises onto his long skinny legs and looks over the young wolf with more curiosity and less terror. <b>“You’re not scary or trying to eat me.”</b> A hesitant smile crawls across his mouth. <b>“I’m looking for someone named Santa Clause and he’s supposed to grant me a gift! Do you want to help me look for him?”</b> The wolf’s head tips to the side, and then his lips part in a timid, canine smile.
<b>“Great! Let’s start looking over here.”</b> Babadook prances off into the shadows away from the river, suddenly more bold now that he has a fearless wolf protector. The snow-wolf pads along beside him, his shoulders coming to Babadook’s withers. They are perfectly-sized for one another and the wolf’s snow fur brushes cooly against his companion’s silver black coat. It soothes Babadook from the warmth of the day and the sweat from walking for so long.
They eventually forget their ambitions, as children often do. They spend the rest of the day wandering in the thickness of the forest, jumping over small logs and splashing through streams and chasing squirrels up trees. It is only when darkness falls that Babadook remembers his quest to find Santa, granted to him by the gentle mother among the morning dew of the playground. <b>“We forgot about Santa!”</b> he squeals. The carefree day spent as a true child, playing with a friend, is cut short coldly by the forgetfulness.
<b>“Do you think he’ll still be out when it’s so dark?”</b> Babadook begins to fret anxiously, lungs inhaling breaths quicker with each moment. His snow friend stills him with a icy nose placed to Babadook’s chest. Then, with a flick of his ears, he leads him to a cave set against a rocky hill the colt hadn’t noticed before. <b>“You knew this whole time?”</b> The itch of betrayal stings for a moment, but it is soothed by the balm of curiosity.
The skinny colt steps into the cool of the cave. <b>“Hello? Santa?”</b>
There is a rustling in the shadows.</div></div></center>
He is already on edge from the spooks of his own imagination. So when the sound of the twig cracking echos in his ear, Babadook is already seeing the looming, menacing creatures in the dark corners of the shadows. A shameless cry is thrown out of his cracked lips and he closes his dark eyes despite not even knowing what he is scared of. His muscles tighten instinctively and he crouches low to the ground (an action he performs swiftly, having done it many times before in the presence of his annoyed mother).
There is no sound but a quiet, gentle panting. Babadook raises his head quietly from where it was bent between his knees, eyes blurry as he opens them. There is a murky, ivory shape that eventually sharpens into the form of a small wolf. At first, panic flies through Babadook’s chest with all the quickness and ferocity of a shooting star. But it dims when he realizes the wolf is a young one — just past the softness of childhood.
The wolf is formed of snow, Babadook realizes, and his brow furrows as he notes the air is exceptionally warm. Yet he does not melt into the soil and his crystalline body is a swirl of snow and ice. Sharp ice teeth poke through his lips and his eyes are a deep sky blue. His two little ears sit perched, twisting in Babadook’s direction.
<b>“Oh.”</b> The colt rises onto his long skinny legs and looks over the young wolf with more curiosity and less terror. <b>“You’re not scary or trying to eat me.”</b> A hesitant smile crawls across his mouth. <b>“I’m looking for someone named Santa Clause and he’s supposed to grant me a gift! Do you want to help me look for him?”</b> The wolf’s head tips to the side, and then his lips part in a timid, canine smile.
<b>“Great! Let’s start looking over here.”</b> Babadook prances off into the shadows away from the river, suddenly more bold now that he has a fearless wolf protector. The snow-wolf pads along beside him, his shoulders coming to Babadook’s withers. They are perfectly-sized for one another and the wolf’s snow fur brushes cooly against his companion’s silver black coat. It soothes Babadook from the warmth of the day and the sweat from walking for so long.
They eventually forget their ambitions, as children often do. They spend the rest of the day wandering in the thickness of the forest, jumping over small logs and splashing through streams and chasing squirrels up trees. It is only when darkness falls that Babadook remembers his quest to find Santa, granted to him by the gentle mother among the morning dew of the playground. <b>“We forgot about Santa!”</b> he squeals. The carefree day spent as a true child, playing with a friend, is cut short coldly by the forgetfulness.
<b>“Do you think he’ll still be out when it’s so dark?”</b> Babadook begins to fret anxiously, lungs inhaling breaths quicker with each moment. His snow friend stills him with a icy nose placed to Babadook’s chest. Then, with a flick of his ears, he leads him to a cave set against a rocky hill the colt hadn’t noticed before. <b>“You knew this whole time?”</b> The itch of betrayal stings for a moment, but it is soothed by the balm of curiosity.
The skinny colt steps into the cool of the cave. <b>“Hello? Santa?”</b>
There is a rustling in the shadows.</div></div></center>