03-14-2020, 04:14 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: georgia;"]It was not often that the sawbones found himself in the junkyard. His reasons for being there were very limited, especially considering what he had found the last time he entered. Selby could still picture the cloud of crows flying away from his sister’s body as Crow approached. To think of it sent unpleasant shivers down his spine. Still, it was best to take care of one’s traumas while they were still fresh. Letting it stew was good for no one. So after one particularly vivid nightmare, he picked himself up and resolved to explore the area.
It did not take long to reach the gates. He paused at them, feeling the anxiety and dread weigh his limbs down like lead. A hard lump of some strong emotion settled in his throat. Come on, Selby. It’s not that bad. There’s nothing dangerous in there. He repeated this comforting mantra to himself, eventually finding the courage to swallow his fears and drag himself inside.
The sight of numerous crows made him freeze in his tracks, but after studying them, the throng was nowhere near as thick as it had been after Pastel. These were just normal birds, here to pick at scraps. Had his sister been scraps? Scraps, scraps, scraps. What difference did it make? They all ended up in the same place. He moved onward.
As he scanned the various sections of junk, Selby found that there was not much of interest. After all, it was junk. Someone had deemed it too old or too messed up or too broken to be of use. He passed a two legged stool, a scattered and broken tea set, and an unraveled wicker basket before he found something familiar tangled up with scraps of cloth.
He had ditched the skateboard for a reason. The missing wheel made it impossible to be used, not to mention the tumultuous time it represented. Still, a sense of nostalgia drove him forward. Selby gripped the front of it with his teeth and used his paws to push the cloth away. Through this method, he was able to pull it free. Setting it down, he began to give it a good look. The board had not aged well, its plain black surface faded and odd-smelling from its days in the rain and sun. Another of its wheels was stuck in place, too rusted to turn. He sat in front of it in thought, wondering what he should do with it.
It did not take long to reach the gates. He paused at them, feeling the anxiety and dread weigh his limbs down like lead. A hard lump of some strong emotion settled in his throat. Come on, Selby. It’s not that bad. There’s nothing dangerous in there. He repeated this comforting mantra to himself, eventually finding the courage to swallow his fears and drag himself inside.
The sight of numerous crows made him freeze in his tracks, but after studying them, the throng was nowhere near as thick as it had been after Pastel. These were just normal birds, here to pick at scraps. Had his sister been scraps? Scraps, scraps, scraps. What difference did it make? They all ended up in the same place. He moved onward.
As he scanned the various sections of junk, Selby found that there was not much of interest. After all, it was junk. Someone had deemed it too old or too messed up or too broken to be of use. He passed a two legged stool, a scattered and broken tea set, and an unraveled wicker basket before he found something familiar tangled up with scraps of cloth.
He had ditched the skateboard for a reason. The missing wheel made it impossible to be used, not to mention the tumultuous time it represented. Still, a sense of nostalgia drove him forward. Selby gripped the front of it with his teeth and used his paws to push the cloth away. Through this method, he was able to pull it free. Setting it down, he began to give it a good look. The board had not aged well, its plain black surface faded and odd-smelling from its days in the rain and sun. Another of its wheels was stuck in place, too rusted to turn. He sat in front of it in thought, wondering what he should do with it.
