WHITTER
hell is empty
and all the devils are here
and all the devils are here
It had felt, to the stallion, that he had been travelling for centuries. And yet, his mind remained a fog; a blur to him. Not once could he produce the name of the people he had met, and not once could he drag up any feelings of warmth towards any of it. He was numb, to his core, and was exhausted of his fruitless travels. There was too much noise and energy swirling around him and he more than once wholeheartedly yearned for everything to shut the fuck up. The birds no longer sounded peaceful to him - no, they were quite annoying - and sunlight did not flush his cheeks with satisfaction as it once had. Whitter wanted to crawl into the cold, dark earth and rot as his ancestors did.
The quiet would be pleasing; and the worms might tickle.
----
Whitter stands still, his lips close to the melting earth as he scans the horizons before him. The sun has not quite risen, though its rays are beginning to beam from behind the terra. The dappled stallion had been there quite some time, nearly before nightfall, but there were no indications that he would move. The boulder beside him provided him somewhat with comfort; feeling the denseness and immovability of the rock grounding him. He wanted the night to last for many more hours. He would miss the enveloping silence.
Mindlessly Whitter lips at a few blades of spring grass, clamping them tightly between his yellowed teeth before ripping them from their roots. He thought about what the day would bring, and if it would involve him coming across anything worthy of note. He wondered, though vaguely, where he was. Not having a mental map of his surroundings did not bother him, but he found it easier to navigate knowing where he should be headed. A rogue at heart, the large stag invited the mystery with him on his travels, and surely this adventure would be no different than any other.
The quiet would be pleasing; and the worms might tickle.
----
Whitter stands still, his lips close to the melting earth as he scans the horizons before him. The sun has not quite risen, though its rays are beginning to beam from behind the terra. The dappled stallion had been there quite some time, nearly before nightfall, but there were no indications that he would move. The boulder beside him provided him somewhat with comfort; feeling the denseness and immovability of the rock grounding him. He wanted the night to last for many more hours. He would miss the enveloping silence.
Mindlessly Whitter lips at a few blades of spring grass, clamping them tightly between his yellowed teeth before ripping them from their roots. He thought about what the day would bring, and if it would involve him coming across anything worthy of note. He wondered, though vaguely, where he was. Not having a mental map of his surroundings did not bother him, but he found it easier to navigate knowing where he should be headed. A rogue at heart, the large stag invited the mystery with him on his travels, and surely this adventure would be no different than any other.