07-21-2018, 01:39 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;"][ it's almost 1am and this sucks asldf i just forgot about him for a bit and needed to write]
It was nicotine. He'd been missing nicotine.
Smoke drifts up and up — it was hard to light and hard to control, but somehow it felt kind of natural. He's on his third, which was not natural (and some part of him knows that he's risking some pretty life-threatening issues; it's sad that he doesn't care). Eventually it winds down, hot ash on white paws, and he drops it with the others and a promise to clean them up once he's relaxed a bit. That's already in the works, the German Shepherd's expression relaxing, golden eyes half-lidded. He knows that his brain should be buzzing right now, sorting through thousands of emotions and memories. It's just an instinct, some leftover... programming. There's nothing to sort now, aside from things he's already sorted a million times on their own. He woke up in a sandy grave. He owns almost nothing. A few pictures he'd found in the jacket, the same stupid radio. A half-smoked pack of cigarettes. That was dwindling fast. He's considering a fourth.
He doesn't take it, and instead twists almost painfully to put the pack back into the pocket he'd found them in. It just felt right for them to be there. Then he sits. It'd taken a few days to get adjusted to the territory, and adjust he had. Maybe too well. There's something restless in the Courier's chest, some kind of bird wanting to be set free. He's supposed to walk, that's something else he knows about himself. This town doesn't feel like home. Nothing does. With a deep, shaking sigh, the canine shifts back to stand, staring at the ground underneath his feet. It's an impulse, really, but he carves it out nonetheless. Once he takes a step back, headache building — maybe the nicotine, maybe the memories — it's SIX that's carved out in the ground. Just that.
The letters are wrong, but he doesn't have it in him to scratch it out.
It was nicotine. He'd been missing nicotine.
Smoke drifts up and up — it was hard to light and hard to control, but somehow it felt kind of natural. He's on his third, which was not natural (and some part of him knows that he's risking some pretty life-threatening issues; it's sad that he doesn't care). Eventually it winds down, hot ash on white paws, and he drops it with the others and a promise to clean them up once he's relaxed a bit. That's already in the works, the German Shepherd's expression relaxing, golden eyes half-lidded. He knows that his brain should be buzzing right now, sorting through thousands of emotions and memories. It's just an instinct, some leftover... programming. There's nothing to sort now, aside from things he's already sorted a million times on their own. He woke up in a sandy grave. He owns almost nothing. A few pictures he'd found in the jacket, the same stupid radio. A half-smoked pack of cigarettes. That was dwindling fast. He's considering a fourth.
He doesn't take it, and instead twists almost painfully to put the pack back into the pocket he'd found them in. It just felt right for them to be there. Then he sits. It'd taken a few days to get adjusted to the territory, and adjust he had. Maybe too well. There's something restless in the Courier's chest, some kind of bird wanting to be set free. He's supposed to walk, that's something else he knows about himself. This town doesn't feel like home. Nothing does. With a deep, shaking sigh, the canine shifts back to stand, staring at the ground underneath his feet. It's an impulse, really, but he carves it out nonetheless. Once he takes a step back, headache building — maybe the nicotine, maybe the memories — it's SIX that's carved out in the ground. Just that.
The letters are wrong, but he doesn't have it in him to scratch it out.
[align=center][div style="font-size:15.7pt;line-height:.9;color:#000;font-family:impact;padding:8px;letter-spacing:.7px"]I TOLD MY FRIENDS THAT WE WOULD NEVER PART[div style="font-size:7pt;line-height:1.2;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:2px;margin-bottom:5px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:center;letter-spacing:.0px"]｢ THEY OFTEN SAID THAT YOU WOULD BREAK MY HEART | PINTEREST. INFO. PLAYLIST. ｣