Smoke on the Water (Open)
Feb 9, 2009 16:59:13 GMT -5
Post by The Jabberwock on Feb 9, 2009 16:59:13 GMT -5
***FACT:***
We are all going to to die.
This fact struck me particularly hard one night while I was walking home from work. As I walked through the dark, smoggy streets of District 3 to my undersized apartment, from my job, where I barely scrapped out enough to pay for both living and school, I looked at the river.
It barely counted as a river, actually. A thin trickle of foggy water that I looked down on from the slightly raised shoulder next to the street. Algae floated on it, and where the moon bounced off of it, you could see the shimmery rainbows playing on the surface, broadcasting the pollution of District 3 to the world. Or at least, whatever world could see this pitiful excuse of a river.
But that wasn't what caught my eye.
I stumbled clumsily off the shoulder, over the rocky back to the edge of the river to get a better look.
Something like fog, but not fog, shimmered over the water. Too dark to be fog, it struck a rather romantic chord in me. A small cloud of black pollution drifted over the small, helpless river. Downstream, a large factory dumped all it's excess into this small, helpless river. Above me, the fat, red, glorious moon was covered in a shroud; a film of dirt and grim that any of the people of District 3 got when they wandered the streets.
I sat on the bank, next to my little stream. I opened my bottle of coke and took a sip. In a daze, I layed back against the rocky soil, feeling the rocks jab into my back. I watched the moon.
"Fact," I said, feeling the romantic in me twitch. "We will all die.
We are all going to to die.
This fact struck me particularly hard one night while I was walking home from work. As I walked through the dark, smoggy streets of District 3 to my undersized apartment, from my job, where I barely scrapped out enough to pay for both living and school, I looked at the river.
It barely counted as a river, actually. A thin trickle of foggy water that I looked down on from the slightly raised shoulder next to the street. Algae floated on it, and where the moon bounced off of it, you could see the shimmery rainbows playing on the surface, broadcasting the pollution of District 3 to the world. Or at least, whatever world could see this pitiful excuse of a river.
But that wasn't what caught my eye.
I stumbled clumsily off the shoulder, over the rocky back to the edge of the river to get a better look.
Something like fog, but not fog, shimmered over the water. Too dark to be fog, it struck a rather romantic chord in me. A small cloud of black pollution drifted over the small, helpless river. Downstream, a large factory dumped all it's excess into this small, helpless river. Above me, the fat, red, glorious moon was covered in a shroud; a film of dirt and grim that any of the people of District 3 got when they wandered the streets.
I sat on the bank, next to my little stream. I opened my bottle of coke and took a sip. In a daze, I layed back against the rocky soil, feeling the rocks jab into my back. I watched the moon.
"Fact," I said, feeling the romantic in me twitch. "We will all die.
I hope that was a good first post. ^ ^
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