dull turned to light - hay balloons

[fulzanin]

WE'LL MAKE A WAY WHERE YOU CAN FIND YOUR PLACE
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Feza tended to ignore how much the lion sighed when he was around her. He was always doing that. When he approached, when he spoke. The sigh of disappointment, irritation. Her teeth helped the needle tie the bottom of the balloons that were filled with hay. She continued working on her small festivity, raised ears truly being the one sign that she was listening. “It’s- it’s a substitute. So I can save the confetti for the, the, the greater things. I’ve got big plans. Don’t want to go, to- to waste all my supplies so soon.” Her initial response was. Her tail swung to the side, an absent movement as she finished tying another one of the balloons to the absolute mess of ones that were already tied together. Her head then raised, and her face scrunched up. “Huh. They didn’t have hay where I used to live. It’s covered in paint so the edges are round. It’ll be fine.” She waved a paw nonchalantly: brushing it off. She did that a lot with things that were serious. Feza didn’t care for things that were serious. Parties and smiles, those were the two things that got the gears in her brain turning. Any and everything else fell prey to her sporadic thoughts, which tore them until they, too, were festive and joyful.

Then she watched him shake his head. She had stopped working now to listen, and found her teeth baring together. “Oh, I shouldn’t be using a needle?” Her voice grew sharp, dropping from it’s usual high pitch, “Maybe I should use the stick in the mud instead. I think someone else has that shoved up their butt right now, though. I’ll stick to the needle.” Feza’s tone was icy, her eyes narrowing. Yet despite her anger, it was only brief before her fear swiftly took over. Stupid. She shouldn’t have said such a thing. Her vibrant form winced, and her attention turned swiftly back to her task at hand- not caring to notice another balloon go whisking off in a strong breeze due to her tying methods being less than decent. “They’re mobile happiness units. When they explode they make people happy. That’s what they do. None of that hurting stuff. They don’t like it because they’re too sad or angry. It’s, it’s trigonometry, really.” The vibrant feline rambled in her usual way, a paw pulling the roll of string closer. “They’re supposed to explode on people. Then they’re, they’re gonna think ‘wow, this is so colorful and cool! I’m so much happier now! All the troubles of my life are gone now that I’ve been showered in happiness!’” Feza elaborated, a wing raising away from her fluffy form to waggle as if it would some how contribute to her statement.

//mobile

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THE EMPTY CHAIRS WILL BE RESERVED FOR OUR PITY