Wild
Platinum Sparx
Gems: 5045
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#6 Posted: 17:52:15 26/07/2010 | Topic Creator
Frozen raindrops, suspended in the air, frozen in time, but abnormally sized, seeming like crystals but when touched proved to be composed of water. Flickering memories, moods, playing in these large droplets, changing when sensed, or focused upon, as if it the droplets were planning plots behind his back. Dreamy. Symbolic. There was a crunch as he stepped towards the raindrops, the droplets seemed to be gathered, like some type of special event, something worth being looked at was in the middle of where they clustered.
The crunch, as he directed his sight, was Monarch butterflies, the butterfly affect, that was it – stomp on a single thing in the past and it morphs the future into something completely different. A type of, musing of how fragile things truly are, how easily things are to be prevented if the right butterfly was stepped on before it even formed. A dream. A symbolic dream. A numb dream. A dream that whispered its secrets, a dream where things are lucid, simple, but can sustain complexity. He was stepping on butterflies, changing the future by doing this. This dream.
He was destroying something beautiful, so he hesitated with his step toward the gathering. The butterflies littered the ground, covering it completely, layered upon layer, bright, and he noticed how the floor seemed to ripple. Ripple with the flaps of their wings, up, down, up down, seeming glued to the floor, flapping them fast, then slow, all connected, but some butterflies were off. He turned his head around, and noticed the lack of ripples, where he stepped, where he crunched aspects of the past.
They seemed to want to be let go, to fly, to not be so stacked and be naturally scattered. They were on top of each other; all these aspects were crushing each other. Then how did he not sink? Good way to jinx yourself, because then he started to sink. Crunch, the death of more of the Monarchs. He panicked, but knew he could make no true, useful sound. Crunch, break, time does not bend. It breaks, crushes, shatters, and changes overall. The pieces of the past get thrown, scattered among the others, a mess, and an eternal puzzle. Don’t mess with the past.
Course correction always takes its toll.
The powerless falling sensation, the feeling of changing, of causing something that shouldn’t, was comforted by solidity. The raindrops were gone now, now there was nothing but darkness, suffocating darkness, grabbing, chattering, embracing, and hungry darkness. Like those deep purple October shadows, the month that everyone just expects something to die. Yet, this was not a month, this was not a mood set by the time, this was it. Darkness. He only realized now how the frozen water that was once in front of him emitted light. He looked towards the ground. He could feel something, but he could not see it.
Now what? The ride was not over. He waited, standing there, seeming to wait for a hundred years, maybe even more, and everything still, was stiff. What did it want? The chitterling darkness kept making him light-headed, what did it want? He noticed how it didn’t seem to be able to touch him; it needed consent, didn’t it? Consent, limitation, always something somewhere. To use someone as a meat suit, permission is required first. So he said firmly in his mind that he was not daft, and it all retreated. He stumbled forward, now feeling like moving, and a terrible emptiness, as well as a sickness that didn’t come from his stomach, but his head.
Did he play too many games – watch too many television, what the hell kind of dream was this? Dreams always formulate from within the mind, he brought the fact to surface, that mind affects, that you’re only limited to your own thoughts. He stood in a meadow, sweet scents, flowing flowers and grasses, a tree towering over him as he started to focus, and as he started to focus furtherer – and not let this dream take toll, the meadow faded. The sun had glory above, the sky was light blue, and it seemed to be slowly threading away. The breezes, the freedom, the elegance, the peace…was being devoured by his own mind, his own memories.
Thus, he stopped, stopped thinking, and rested on the tree, sliding down its base. He sat there, and stared out upon the meadow as it weaved back, smiled slightly. His world. But something was lacking. Empty like the emptiness he felt, his mind still felt sick. As if he done something wrong. He flexed his fingers, bringing them in front of him, forgetting, almost that he had them – he didn’t need them to just sit here. What was lacking? He searched, but the mind-sickness swarmed, and he rolled to his side, a sheet upon his thoughts and eyes.
Boy, was this ground warm, so warm, heated, and welcoming, he laid on his side staring out, but this time not seeing anything at all. Sickness, sickness, engulfing, it spread. He closed his eyes, ignoring it, and wondering for a moment exactly how. He felt like dreaming. Then he remembered he was dreaming, and he was all alone in these confines. Alone? He didn’t want to be alone…why was he alone? He wanted to live together, with someone at least, someone who judged, but didn’t prey…he had someone, didn’t he? He searched, but it came blank.
He was in the dark again, a familiar glow appeared, and he was now upright. It was cold, freezing; his nose hairs seemed to stick together. The ground rippled with colour, his eyes flickered with distraction. The raindrops were there again, and there they were, gathered. His destination. He knew what he was looking for now. Someone else, someone else, not to be alone – no, don’t be alone, never be alone…
The sound of wind, flapping wings, gentle, gentle it was. There was a dripping sound, and he didn’t pay heed to it, nor did he pay heed to the crunching. He was floating now, traveling so fast, he walked on the butterflies, step, by step, he soon went fast enough to go on them and not cause any damage. He smiled, triumphal, as he reached the frozen, evasive, shifting, and great light emitting, frozen raindrops. He looked behind him, and saw the breaks in the ripples of time, but saw how fast he traveled he didn’t destroy time, so all was well. All was well. He whipped his head around, noticing no more butterflies here, but a ground of shallow water.
His face lit up by the light, he tapped the frozen raindrops, they all turned water, and dissolved before they hit the ground. He didn’t notice how he had no reflection in the water, but had, instead a reflection in the giant, and icy raindrops. He forgot how cold he was, and how the ground of here, should, technically, be freezing. Tendrils of frost started to form from the outer areas, the eternal sea of butterflies starting to freeze over.
Whispers seemed to try to warn, or mock, as the butterflies started to freeze over. He paid no heed; still, as he kept touching the droplets, watching as they vanished into nothingness. Irreversible. He didn’t think enough, but he would’ve cared greatly if he did, all he wanted was them out of his way so he could reach his goals. It was as cold as before, the pressure only had changed slightly. The air seemed to be laced with ice has it did before.
All of a sudden, his eyes started to crack.
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