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Stream Nothing After 72 hours on her feet, rest was coming to greet her. The blankets embraced her like a warm mother, diluting her aches and her anxieties. She had made it, and now she was allowed to sleep. The smell of tuna never left her fingers, but she didn't care, at that point. Survival had become a full time job, and she was becoming extremely good at it. Just when she was slipping into a placid state of blissful relaxation, the noise began. The depository of all her love was also the source of all her stress, and the affection given was returned in the form of screams and fetid refuse. She pushed a pillow over her own head, hoping she would quiet the screams, but it was not working. The high pitched wailing struck her body like a lightning, leaving that acrid taste in the roof of her mouth. She was, again, wide awake, trembling, and feeling her life was being drained through her eardrums. She stood up, and walked towards the little angel. It had been born with teeth and hair; huge, grotesque, misshaped. It had broken her on arrival, and destroyed her life afterwards. And she was supposed to love the screaming beast. She pressed a pillow against the gaping hole of its mouth, and didn't move until the noise was long gone. She felt a cold finger tracing her spine, but the noise was gone. She went back to sleep, to relax, to forget. Silence hugged her tighter than any blanket, with its cold breath whispering "Murderer" in her ears. She was surprised to discover that a whisper inside her head was so much powerful than a scream from a cot. |
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| TDSG - Selling Blankets; Marc Hopper's First Dream | |
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| Topic Started: May 19 2016, 09:44 AM (38 Views) | |
| NPC: All | May 19 2016, 09:44 AM Post #1 |
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OOC NOTE: Comes from here. [...]The grey expanse seemed infinite, ashen, bleak, desolated. From his high vantage point, Marc could appreciate the vast endless amount of creaky grey dust in the horizon. Gathered in front of him, the faceless crowd of fans listening to his guitar and his voice, as it boomed through the grey sky. Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun. Shine on you crazy diamond. Now there's a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky. Shine on you crazy diamond. The band was behind him. Melting hunks of waxy meat, crudely attached to their instruments with barb wire. As they played, slices of their own flesh sprayed the stage. To the right, the back up singers were tangled in a knot that challenged the barriers between sexual intercourse and cannibalism. It was certainly destructive, but that didn't stop them from hitting every note they had to hit. The sound was perfection. The crowd was entranced by the music, and by Marc's presence. He felt like a god. You were caught on the cross fire of childhood and stardom, Blown on the steel breeze. Come on you target for faraway laughter, come on you stranger, You legend, you martyr, and shine! The train stopped to the left of the stage. A group of ragged vagabonds were expelled from there. The train departed. The misery mob was half frozen, starved, and miserable. They once owned this ashen land, they collected food from the ground, and lived a noble and productive life, in harmony with nature. Now, they were reduced to wearing rags, and trembling in the cold. Their nobility was lost, their dignity stolen. They would degrade themselves as much as necessary only to be given the most basic human necessities. Marc knew that just by looking at them, but formulating a judgement on their situation was incredibly complex. On one hand, their people had suffered the most unfair of fates. On the other, he just disliked them, or didn't really care. Both arguments seemed to weigh equally. You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon. Shine on you crazy diamond. Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light. Shine on you crazy diamond. In the distance, a wooden cart pulled by a group of hooded children was approaching. A woman was riding it, brandishing a handy whip, making the lazy kids pull harder. The cart was loaded with blankets, clothes, and food. It was the ragged mob's salvation. The music fans didn't really care for that, but they cooperated with the whole situation by throwing bottles and sharp objects at the victimized people. It was an oddly satisfying show, that went perfectly along with the music. The cart reached the mob, and the woman raised. She was older. Her face was lined with wrinkles, and her long grey hair made a curtain at her back. Her skin was tanned, like leather, and her eyes were filled with love. From her neck a collection of dream catchers tingled with the wind. Indian, like the ragged mob. Only she was better, not full of filth and indignity. She pointed at the food, the blankets, and the clothes, and the vagabonds jumped with joy. Well you wore out your welcome with random precision, Rode on the steel breeze. Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, You piper, you prisoner, and shine! Then she pointed at the ragged mob's children. Over twelve dirty little brats. The heavy hand of fate covered the undignified people's brows. They knew the price. The guided the children forward, and presented them to the woman. She got down of the cart, and approached the kids. Lovingly, carefully, she stared at them, evaluating their life's potential, knowing that these options were over now. She approached the mothers, and gave them sacks, needles, and thread. The mothers, with tears in their eyes, proceeded to sew the sacks to the children's heads, turning them into hooded children, never to have a face again, destined to pull the cart until they dropped dead under the wheels. That was the price. The men, mean while, were gorging in food, putting on clothes, and covering themselves in blankets. Nobody knows where you are, how near or how far. Shine on you crazy diamond. Pile on many more layers and I'll be joining you there. Shine on you crazy diamond. From his vantage point, up in the stage, Marc could see the insects crawling in the blankets. Plague. Pestilence. The food was rotten, poisoned. The clothes were teeming with leeches and parasites. The ragged crowd was celebrating, in their own tragic way, their survival. They had sold their future -their children- for a promise for the present, and what they got in exchange was a painful death sentence. Marc hated them for that. The woman tied the children to the cart, and climbed back up. She whipped her herd, prompting them to drag her to her next stop. Before leaving, she stared at Marc with hollow eyes. Hatred and sadness filled her gaze. She was the empty ambition of the uprooted, the defeatist claim of the greedy. She burned other people's future for the sake of a meaningless process. She was as despicable as her despicable customers, only she thought she was in control. The children dragged her away. And we'll bask in the shadow of yesterday's triumph, And sail on the steel breeze. Come on you boy child, you winner and loser, Come on you miner for truth and delusion, and shine! The train came back. It stopped for a few minutes. The ragged crowd climbed back inside, carrying the infected blankets and the poisoned food with them. They were set on spreading the disease of their very existence all across the world, in the form of viruses and ideas. There was no stopping them. They would bring ruin to all that was sacred, and holy. The train departed, filled with desecration. The last notes of the song vibrated in the air. The music loving crowd cheered in agony. Pleasure crawled through Marc's body in electric waves. Edited by All, May 19 2016, 09:47 AM.
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1:05 AM Jul 11