This has been a long time, when I wasn't able to write anything beside
roleplay posts.
But on that day, I felt that I can.
Write more.
Inspired by Trent Reznor's music.
Donnie Darko and other great movies.
Science-fiction.
Ray Bradbury stories.
Life itself, and threats of death.
I present you what I have manage to put down already.
Deeply mysterious, futuristic, artistic, postmodernistic piece of wordart.
Please, give me a honest opinion.
But I warn... This is for those, whom understand Donnie Darko.
The light was flickering, the bulb threatening to leave all the waiting people in the darkness, which was closing in from surrounding city. There wasn't many of them there, just a palmfull of souls, standing under lonely umbrellas in the night.
Fog rose, while the rain beated against the summer warm asphalt. It rose from the depths of secrets and unknown knowledge, which threatened all of these people, tossed together by fate.
Will they know?.
Will they?.
+++
A Familiar Taste of August
"Oh, c'mon... that freakin' ol' machine is late again. I will never get there in time," a young female, in early 20's, looked at her watch and tamped left nose of the heeled shoe against the ground. Standing within few meters away from other six, the magnificent old oak offered her enough shade from that acid rain, that seemed never stop in these days.
Megu tucked her nose up and peeked into the skies. There was rarely any stars to be seen, but bright transparent teal planet never left the horizon, no matter how thick the clouds were. She sighed, pulling her fragile body back and slid some of those long hair behind her ear under the hood.
She rose the right hand, and played those long, reumatic thin fingers through the murky fog, leaving behind clean spaces of air, which were lazily filled pretty soon after this. The girl was so caught into this little fiddle, that she never noticed a car stop beside her, the droplets of water beating against the rusty roof and echoing through the sceleton of scenery, empty, yet filled with corpses of factories.
"Get in, Megumi."
A voice, who dared to command the Commander.
The hand stopped. Fingers slowly faded from their movements. The figure under the leafage almost trembled like the noise on the old screens.
Screetching. Abatement. Supression. Understatement.
Who?.
She rose her eyes, and stared in from the rolled down window. It was an automobile, from the ancient times, not a floater, like most people rode within these days; and yet... it somehow suited more into this perspective than any other machinery.
Its black skin had dots of corrosion, spreading all over like a disease of humanity gone lost. The bottom was lit, and its warmth spread its roots through the thickening haze.
"Why?."
A question. A stare. Eyelash palpitation. So faint...
"If you don't, you will miss it. 345-B is not going to come today."
Fact, which will win over all prudent moths in the night, saving them from falling into the dust. Certanly, Megumi had no chance to spend the rest of the time under that lifeless tree. A mere mannequin, for those, who valued past above the present. Tecnology to photosynthese, grow through the seasons, that didn't have their former meaning.
She knew it. She was needed.
They were waiting.
++++
Rest of this is in the process...
roleplay posts.
But on that day, I felt that I can.
Write more.
Inspired by Trent Reznor's music.
Donnie Darko and other great movies.
Science-fiction.
Ray Bradbury stories.
Life itself, and threats of death.
I present you what I have manage to put down already.
Deeply mysterious, futuristic, artistic, postmodernistic piece of wordart.
Please, give me a honest opinion.
But I warn... This is for those, whom understand Donnie Darko.
The light was flickering, the bulb threatening to leave all the waiting people in the darkness, which was closing in from surrounding city. There wasn't many of them there, just a palmfull of souls, standing under lonely umbrellas in the night.
Fog rose, while the rain beated against the summer warm asphalt. It rose from the depths of secrets and unknown knowledge, which threatened all of these people, tossed together by fate.
Will they know?.
Will they?.
+++
A Familiar Taste of August
"Oh, c'mon... that freakin' ol' machine is late again. I will never get there in time," a young female, in early 20's, looked at her watch and tamped left nose of the heeled shoe against the ground. Standing within few meters away from other six, the magnificent old oak offered her enough shade from that acid rain, that seemed never stop in these days.
Megu tucked her nose up and peeked into the skies. There was rarely any stars to be seen, but bright transparent teal planet never left the horizon, no matter how thick the clouds were. She sighed, pulling her fragile body back and slid some of those long hair behind her ear under the hood.
She rose the right hand, and played those long, reumatic thin fingers through the murky fog, leaving behind clean spaces of air, which were lazily filled pretty soon after this. The girl was so caught into this little fiddle, that she never noticed a car stop beside her, the droplets of water beating against the rusty roof and echoing through the sceleton of scenery, empty, yet filled with corpses of factories.
"Get in, Megumi."
A voice, who dared to command the Commander.
The hand stopped. Fingers slowly faded from their movements. The figure under the leafage almost trembled like the noise on the old screens.
Screetching. Abatement. Supression. Understatement.
Who?.
She rose her eyes, and stared in from the rolled down window. It was an automobile, from the ancient times, not a floater, like most people rode within these days; and yet... it somehow suited more into this perspective than any other machinery.
Its black skin had dots of corrosion, spreading all over like a disease of humanity gone lost. The bottom was lit, and its warmth spread its roots through the thickening haze.
"Why?."
A question. A stare. Eyelash palpitation. So faint...
"If you don't, you will miss it. 345-B is not going to come today."
Fact, which will win over all prudent moths in the night, saving them from falling into the dust. Certanly, Megumi had no chance to spend the rest of the time under that lifeless tree. A mere mannequin, for those, who valued past above the present. Tecnology to photosynthese, grow through the seasons, that didn't have their former meaning.
She knew it. She was needed.
They were waiting.
++++
Rest of this is in the process...
