kingdom100 #26 Violence
Title: Forest Walk
Author: Lyndsay, memoryshift
Prompt: #26, Violence
Word Count: 294
Rating: PG, for somewhat gory descriptions (they're not that bad).
Author's Notes: I'm semi-back, I hope. I don't know, I think I'm going through an identity crisis.
I almost get confused about how I manage to hold myself up before I feel the harsh bark of a tree scraping against my back, irritating fresh wounds. Of the sudden my skin seems to be flooded and trapped under boiling blood, spilling out from probably important places, and if the moment had allowed it I would groan in agony at the realization that my wrist bone is protruding more than it should be. The silver light of the sky enlightens me further of my physical state: my dress soiled with dirt and blood, not a sliver of white to be seen; fresh purple bruises blossoming on my arms and legs; my sandals cracked, broken along the edges, caked with mud and wet leaves. As moments pass, the heaving of my chest is quieted and the cramp in my stomach subsides. I sink to the ground, barely able to feel the roots beneath my hands.
The wind echoes around the night incessantly, rustling the delicate leaves that cling to magnificent, dark trees by single, fragile silk stems. Stars pepper the sky like white dust, small diamonds, stains against a frail blanket of dark. The moon hangs in her sky uninhibited by gray clouds of smoke, a worthy protector of the worlds below. I glance at it and am momentarily surprised by its normal shape; after so long of being locked away in a heart-worshipping world, it’s nice to enjoy moments when things exist as they should. I am instantly grateful for this moon’s unchanging state, its stability, its confidence, and I promise myself that I’ll return at a better time to capture it on paper.
But a flash of silver hair catches my eye, and it’s time to move among the trees once again.
Author: Lyndsay, memoryshift
Prompt: #26, Violence
Word Count: 294
Rating: PG, for somewhat gory descriptions (they're not that bad).
Author's Notes: I'm semi-back, I hope. I don't know, I think I'm going through an identity crisis.
I almost get confused about how I manage to hold myself up before I feel the harsh bark of a tree scraping against my back, irritating fresh wounds. Of the sudden my skin seems to be flooded and trapped under boiling blood, spilling out from probably important places, and if the moment had allowed it I would groan in agony at the realization that my wrist bone is protruding more than it should be. The silver light of the sky enlightens me further of my physical state: my dress soiled with dirt and blood, not a sliver of white to be seen; fresh purple bruises blossoming on my arms and legs; my sandals cracked, broken along the edges, caked with mud and wet leaves. As moments pass, the heaving of my chest is quieted and the cramp in my stomach subsides. I sink to the ground, barely able to feel the roots beneath my hands.
The wind echoes around the night incessantly, rustling the delicate leaves that cling to magnificent, dark trees by single, fragile silk stems. Stars pepper the sky like white dust, small diamonds, stains against a frail blanket of dark. The moon hangs in her sky uninhibited by gray clouds of smoke, a worthy protector of the worlds below. I glance at it and am momentarily surprised by its normal shape; after so long of being locked away in a heart-worshipping world, it’s nice to enjoy moments when things exist as they should. I am instantly grateful for this moon’s unchanging state, its stability, its confidence, and I promise myself that I’ll return at a better time to capture it on paper.
But a flash of silver hair catches my eye, and it’s time to move among the trees once again.