04-09-2020, 12:07 AM
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He wasn't sure what he expected. The words that stumbled from their wary accented tongues hit him like a truck-- no, a train, skidding sideways and sparking down its derailed tracks while he stood frozen, a deer gawking at headlights as a whistle screeched the ear-piercing truth. At that moment, his world spiraled off its orbit while his paws remained sunken in the mire, grass brushing his ankles as his joints locked. No, this wasn't right-- this wasn't supposed to happen. Was it? Dumbfounded, the poltergeist took to silence, falling back on his rear as his legs buckled with his mouth parted slightly and face blank. What was he supposed to do? Could he do anything? Since when had he ever been in control?
The train refused to pause its momentum for him to process anything spoken, crushing him against the rails and continuing on down the tunnel, its passengers trying to reason with the patrol surrounding. He swallowed dryly, all purpose of his prior stroll lost. Voices of others muffled by the haze, he stared numbly up toward the sheepdog stepping forward. His shoulders slumped. Beck grit his crooked teeth, undersized chest inflating with a wheezy breath. "...I'm Beck," he finally admitted, his name sticking oddly to his tongue like a foreign paste, dripping and oozing sickly as his stomach plummeted. The seventhborn, the unwanted, the orphan.
His reaction lagged behind the impact. For a couple of moments, the boy watched the others vacantly, honey-brown eyes glazed by shock. Then all at once, his lip began to quiver, his eyes began to water, and his breathing began to hitch. His face scrunched as an overwhelming surge of emotion walloped him, knocking all dignity and pride from him as a wretched sob broke his silence.
Funnily enough, not much had changed since his family had last seen him. He was still a pathetic, blubbering crybaby.
The train refused to pause its momentum for him to process anything spoken, crushing him against the rails and continuing on down the tunnel, its passengers trying to reason with the patrol surrounding. He swallowed dryly, all purpose of his prior stroll lost. Voices of others muffled by the haze, he stared numbly up toward the sheepdog stepping forward. His shoulders slumped. Beck grit his crooked teeth, undersized chest inflating with a wheezy breath. "...I'm Beck," he finally admitted, his name sticking oddly to his tongue like a foreign paste, dripping and oozing sickly as his stomach plummeted. The seventhborn, the unwanted, the orphan.
His reaction lagged behind the impact. For a couple of moments, the boy watched the others vacantly, honey-brown eyes glazed by shock. Then all at once, his lip began to quiver, his eyes began to water, and his breathing began to hitch. His face scrunched as an overwhelming surge of emotion walloped him, knocking all dignity and pride from him as a wretched sob broke his silence.
Funnily enough, not much had changed since his family had last seen him. He was still a pathetic, blubbering crybaby.