06-02-2019, 12:16 AM
In retrospect, perhaps leaving all he had ever known behind wasn’t the best decision he’s made.
Equipped with a faulty sense of direction and an imprudent hope for answers, a young, inexperienced feline had relinquished his role as watcher to become a doer. It was up to him to show those who talked poorly of him just how incorrect they were - he was capable of accomplishing tremendous feats, despite them not recognizing it. Completely abandoning his creed and previous lifestyle, he fled to the beyond, where the real world awaited him. The issue was, what he was taught as ‘the real world’ wasn’t ‘the real world’ at all.
Miseducated about society since boyhood, Langdon and his sect were lead to believe that those who possessed opposing doctrines were meant to be cleansed. Now that he was exposed to the real world, the male understood the falsehood of the ideology he priorly followed. From that point forth, it was not in his intentions to be a doer, but to persist as a survivor.
The revelation of his teachings being incorrect left him utterly lost. The denomination trained their people to exist within a primal and tempestuous civilization, when in reality, it was the other way around. The outlook on life that they shoved in his brain was underhandedly moulded - hence, he knew not how to properly act within a social order.
A solid year of aimlessly ambling followed. What he became was akin to driftwood, bobbing amidst the endless waters of the sea. Lacking the appropriate skillset required to retain a legitimate lifestyle, Langdon Speight refrained from staying in the same location twice.
For all he knew, this island was nothing but another pit stop. A place to grab some tropical grub and sleep among the waves. In the morning, his travels would resume to their normal agenda. From a distance, it looked uninhabited, too, which peaked his interest as he operated best when far off from the nearest population.
Feathery wings halted their flapping, tucking into his midsection while he began his descent, leaving the castaway barrelling towards the earth at preposterous speeds. His body levelled out once it met the treeline, transitioning into a glide - though, he hadn’t anticipated a rogue branch that would clip his wing as he passed. Sending the airborne mammal into a tumble, his body met the ground with a FWUMP!
A pain-fuelled groan scarcely escaped his maw. Discomfort such as this was somewhat of an old friend of his, though it was an old friend he had not had contact with for quite the amount of time. An attempt was made to raise his torso off the ground; the attempt’s failure dropped his physique back against the cool dirt.
The gray feline lay flat on the ground.
It wasn’t a great start to his night, to say the least. Though, the potential of it even worsening was still there.
Equipped with a faulty sense of direction and an imprudent hope for answers, a young, inexperienced feline had relinquished his role as watcher to become a doer. It was up to him to show those who talked poorly of him just how incorrect they were - he was capable of accomplishing tremendous feats, despite them not recognizing it. Completely abandoning his creed and previous lifestyle, he fled to the beyond, where the real world awaited him. The issue was, what he was taught as ‘the real world’ wasn’t ‘the real world’ at all.
Miseducated about society since boyhood, Langdon and his sect were lead to believe that those who possessed opposing doctrines were meant to be cleansed. Now that he was exposed to the real world, the male understood the falsehood of the ideology he priorly followed. From that point forth, it was not in his intentions to be a doer, but to persist as a survivor.
The revelation of his teachings being incorrect left him utterly lost. The denomination trained their people to exist within a primal and tempestuous civilization, when in reality, it was the other way around. The outlook on life that they shoved in his brain was underhandedly moulded - hence, he knew not how to properly act within a social order.
A solid year of aimlessly ambling followed. What he became was akin to driftwood, bobbing amidst the endless waters of the sea. Lacking the appropriate skillset required to retain a legitimate lifestyle, Langdon Speight refrained from staying in the same location twice.
For all he knew, this island was nothing but another pit stop. A place to grab some tropical grub and sleep among the waves. In the morning, his travels would resume to their normal agenda. From a distance, it looked uninhabited, too, which peaked his interest as he operated best when far off from the nearest population.
Feathery wings halted their flapping, tucking into his midsection while he began his descent, leaving the castaway barrelling towards the earth at preposterous speeds. His body levelled out once it met the treeline, transitioning into a glide - though, he hadn’t anticipated a rogue branch that would clip his wing as he passed. Sending the airborne mammal into a tumble, his body met the ground with a FWUMP!
A pain-fuelled groan scarcely escaped his maw. Discomfort such as this was somewhat of an old friend of his, though it was an old friend he had not had contact with for quite the amount of time. An attempt was made to raise his torso off the ground; the attempt’s failure dropped his physique back against the cool dirt.
The gray feline lay flat on the ground.
It wasn’t a great start to his night, to say the least. Though, the potential of it even worsening was still there.