Shepperd vs wrangler (Nokota aka Aramir)
Jun 3, 2012 21:15:10 GMT -5
Post by Jack Lexington on Jun 3, 2012 21:15:10 GMT -5
It’s been two long weeks since Nonnie got reaped and it’s been two long weeks since I got shot after my emergency proposal to her at the jurisdical center and it’s been two long weeks that I spent completely indifferent about the world including myself. All I did was stare up at the ceiling and somehow try to deal with my physical and mental pain. Clever me, I turned to booze when the morphling ran out.
Now I’m just a shadow of what I used to be.
If it wasn’t for my father, who some sleek friend told that he should get me moving otherwise I’ll have clots forming in my legs, I would not leave the house. But dad won’t leave me alone even though I object silently by turning the other way.
Finally I give in and put on some pants. The wife beater will have to do as shirt because I don’t care to stretch my limbs any more than necessary. That only causes pain.
I can barely make it out the door because my blood pressure is so low and I’m working on the remains of cheap liquor in my system, that I found in my fathers cabinet. Yet I stagger down the steps with a few tesserae in my pocket. I’m supposed to get some cheese at the market but I’m going to get something else for that money. Something much more useful- home brewed apple liquor.
I’m not sure how I made it four blocks to the market square but it’s buzzing with life. Way to vibrant and busy for my taste so I sit down for a moment in the shade of a large building and watch the trading from the sidelines.
A guy catches my eye, who is desperately trying to sell some of his sheep skins and other products but with little success. He’s maybe 25 years old, strong with a kind face and a good future ahead of him. Everything I used to be. Damn him.
Shaking my head I go to buy some liquor at the stand next to him.
In a dull low voice I ask how much one bottle is and snarl at the price the old man gives me.
“You have to be kidding. What’s in it? Gold?”
I catch the young bloke staring over at me in an odd way and spit on the ground. “What are you looking at, sheep guy?”
Now I’m just a shadow of what I used to be.
If it wasn’t for my father, who some sleek friend told that he should get me moving otherwise I’ll have clots forming in my legs, I would not leave the house. But dad won’t leave me alone even though I object silently by turning the other way.
Finally I give in and put on some pants. The wife beater will have to do as shirt because I don’t care to stretch my limbs any more than necessary. That only causes pain.
I can barely make it out the door because my blood pressure is so low and I’m working on the remains of cheap liquor in my system, that I found in my fathers cabinet. Yet I stagger down the steps with a few tesserae in my pocket. I’m supposed to get some cheese at the market but I’m going to get something else for that money. Something much more useful- home brewed apple liquor.
I’m not sure how I made it four blocks to the market square but it’s buzzing with life. Way to vibrant and busy for my taste so I sit down for a moment in the shade of a large building and watch the trading from the sidelines.
A guy catches my eye, who is desperately trying to sell some of his sheep skins and other products but with little success. He’s maybe 25 years old, strong with a kind face and a good future ahead of him. Everything I used to be. Damn him.
Shaking my head I go to buy some liquor at the stand next to him.
In a dull low voice I ask how much one bottle is and snarl at the price the old man gives me.
“You have to be kidding. What’s in it? Gold?”
I catch the young bloke staring over at me in an odd way and spit on the ground. “What are you looking at, sheep guy?”
