12-16-2018, 05:07 PM
[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]/ idk what's going on but uh. basically he has a lot of poorly healed injuries, the largest being a bite on the back of his neck near his shoulders.
He should never have left this place. People had made him ache, nervous and thrumming and separate, different, but he had been safer here. There were enough strangers that he could fade into the background, as much as he hated that same thought. Safety hadn't been a pleasant thing since he lost home. For a while, the dog had managed to hold some hope in his chest. They could still be alive, they could be looking for him, he could make it back there. Lately, though, not even birdsong had managed to tip him back towards optimism. What were you supposed to do when everything you cared for slowly crumbled underneath your touch?
There's no answer for that question, even though it's the first and last thing he thinks every day. He wakes up on a quiet, semi-peaceful morning, a grey sky hanging over his head, and simply stays there to think. But twigs and stones press at him through thick fur; it doesn't take long for discomfort to force Garrett to his feet again. His muscles twinge and he feels sick to his stomach. Something is poisoning him in parts, tar spreading through his veins and making him sluggish. There are half-healed wounds all over his body, some scabbed over and some still red and open as the edges of his skin try to reach towards each other. Everything is hot around the edges and maybe that's where that feeling comes from, but whatever crawls through his body feels like it's alive.
He walks mindlessly, paws tracing the familiar path down the tracks, sometimes wincing as the bag strapped to his side bounces heavily. Water laps at worn, scraped paws, until he reaches the gate. Dull green, unfocused eyes catch on the bell, but he doesn't reach up to ring it. Someone will be here soon.
He should never have left this place. People had made him ache, nervous and thrumming and separate, different, but he had been safer here. There were enough strangers that he could fade into the background, as much as he hated that same thought. Safety hadn't been a pleasant thing since he lost home. For a while, the dog had managed to hold some hope in his chest. They could still be alive, they could be looking for him, he could make it back there. Lately, though, not even birdsong had managed to tip him back towards optimism. What were you supposed to do when everything you cared for slowly crumbled underneath your touch?
There's no answer for that question, even though it's the first and last thing he thinks every day. He wakes up on a quiet, semi-peaceful morning, a grey sky hanging over his head, and simply stays there to think. But twigs and stones press at him through thick fur; it doesn't take long for discomfort to force Garrett to his feet again. His muscles twinge and he feels sick to his stomach. Something is poisoning him in parts, tar spreading through his veins and making him sluggish. There are half-healed wounds all over his body, some scabbed over and some still red and open as the edges of his skin try to reach towards each other. Everything is hot around the edges and maybe that's where that feeling comes from, but whatever crawls through his body feels like it's alive.
He walks mindlessly, paws tracing the familiar path down the tracks, sometimes wincing as the bag strapped to his side bounces heavily. Water laps at worn, scraped paws, until he reaches the gate. Dull green, unfocused eyes catch on the bell, but he doesn't reach up to ring it. Someone will be here soon.
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AIN'T EVEN SCRATCHED THE SURFACE
thinking i deserve the dream but
I DON'T DESERVE THE HURTING; I WANT THE FLAME WITHOUT THE BURNING
REFERENCE BY ALBATRAOOZZ ON DA: