09-06-2018, 08:30 AM
[align=center][div style="width:400px; font-size:8.4pt;line-height:1.1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"]The mind is a funny thing, acting in ways one may never want it to, speaking out of turn with no care as to what arises for what good were wayward thoughts if they were not to be shared. The child knew the presence of such, intrusive a rather fitting word for they seemed as such, breaking into the steady flow, stilling his paws when he was meant to be working for each was unwelcome. Given to a darkness they seemed so strange to find, lingering in a dark corner he had hoped they might stay, swept back when one arose. But some were hard to ignore for they arose in moments of weakness, when he was meant to care and not allow such to taint his mind, too important.
When he had a patient under his care, when he felt the slickness of blood as he made attempts to do anything he could, they arose like dark birds upon heavy wings. Oh how they called to him, beckoning him to end the suffering, caught in the guise of assistance. Allow this person the chance to pass on, begin again as so many seemed to, feel their blood as his claws found their throat. Such had dissuaded him from a life made within malice, learning to fight and kill, have another beneath him at his full mercy, the thought turned his stomach. Yet was this any better when each day it seemed another was there, left damaged, broken and seeking him to make them whole once more.
Was he truly suited to be anything more than a killer as his thoughts had come to whisper to him.
“Gotta stop... meetin like dis,” faint is the chuckle arising with those words, light hearted for he wasn't worthy of this worry. Though the hound might see no sin upon the child he felt it as though it proved a slimy thing, a creature scuttling along his body, curling about him until it closed around his throat, invisible but always there. Ignoring the second question posed – indeed it seemed somewhat redundant to speak such – he found himself swallowing, features contouring at the taste of his own blood. “Bad... needed em gone...” Head twists until muzzle finds the sand, an act seemingly meant to bury it within. Speaking aloud, letting those words finally leave his lips, he felt how wrong it truly was, the idiotic action made by simple impulse for he cared not to think in that moment, acting for the sake of it.
When he had a patient under his care, when he felt the slickness of blood as he made attempts to do anything he could, they arose like dark birds upon heavy wings. Oh how they called to him, beckoning him to end the suffering, caught in the guise of assistance. Allow this person the chance to pass on, begin again as so many seemed to, feel their blood as his claws found their throat. Such had dissuaded him from a life made within malice, learning to fight and kill, have another beneath him at his full mercy, the thought turned his stomach. Yet was this any better when each day it seemed another was there, left damaged, broken and seeking him to make them whole once more.
Was he truly suited to be anything more than a killer as his thoughts had come to whisper to him.
“Gotta stop... meetin like dis,” faint is the chuckle arising with those words, light hearted for he wasn't worthy of this worry. Though the hound might see no sin upon the child he felt it as though it proved a slimy thing, a creature scuttling along his body, curling about him until it closed around his throat, invisible but always there. Ignoring the second question posed – indeed it seemed somewhat redundant to speak such – he found himself swallowing, features contouring at the taste of his own blood. “Bad... needed em gone...” Head twists until muzzle finds the sand, an act seemingly meant to bury it within. Speaking aloud, letting those words finally leave his lips, he felt how wrong it truly was, the idiotic action made by simple impulse for he cared not to think in that moment, acting for the sake of it.