birthday in the bog [day 3]
Oct 29, 2015 10:18:09 GMT -5
Post by cameron on Oct 29, 2015 10:18:09 GMT -5
[presto] [/presto] |
[googlefont="Satisfy:400"] Heather Tenley Daria needed me, but the bagpipes did too, so as I helped the footless pixie hobble away from the scene of the crime I blew out some tunes on that funny sounding instrument. Besides the piano, I had never played any kind of music, so it was a little pitchy and squeaky at first, but thankfully I'd never heard Daria say a word and I doubted she'd start now to tell me to quit playing music. Hmm. Why didn't Daria talk? That was strange. Maybe she has strep. And what do people need when they have strep? Bagpipe serenade, of course. "Daria, listen to my bagpipes!" I shout, before blowing out some actually sick beats, man. When I got her far enough away, the moon had risen and it was a nearly perfect circle. I dropped Daria and the bagpipes as I stared up at its monstrous beauty, and I screamed out at the sky. I screamed, and I screamed, and I screamed some more. Chatter and Spreadsheets joined me, howling and honking in unison with my shrieks at the moon. Winds barreled our faces (and Spreadsheets was blown sideways a few times, having to flutter her tiny, weak wings quicker to get back to us) and the cold chilled my bone. I wanted the moon. And I wanted it to want me too. Fists clenched my shirt, ripping it away from my body and discarding it to my side atop Spreadsheets, which caused her to drop three feet before regaining her flight. I shimmied out of my kilt and screamed up at the sky, eyes shut tightly and bare arms spread straight out, welcoming in the moon's warmth. I screamed again, wanting the moon to hear me, to understand me, to love me. I dropped to the ground, mud from the bog splashing all over me, matting in my hair. I rolled over, still screaming, still calling out to the moon. Mud splattered into my mouth, caking itself along my gumline. I needed the moon to answer me, to tell me hello from the other side. The moon was my Number Six Greatest Passion in Life. As of that moment. The moon's craters winked at me, I am positive of that, and my screams turned to song. I can't sing, but that didn't stop me at all. I singed and I singed, still rolling on my unclothed body in the bog. A pocket of mud erupted then, shooting gas into my face, reversing my song back into screams. The gas leaked into my eyes, burning them and startling Chatter and Spreadsheets. For as much as they annoyed the hell out of me, they seemed to at least care that I was in pain. Chatter lapped at my face, licking the fire raging in my sockets. Spreadsheets nuzzled against my chest (though she could have just wanted a closer look at my tits since they were kinda exposed.) I still screamed. Then my head filled with dust, dizzying me instantly and drawing the pain in my eyes away from the forefront of my thoughts. The gas that had burned me had shot into my nervous system, but it did not burn there; instead, it pulsed through my body like anesthesia, numbing me and releasing gravity's hold on me. The moon had listened to my calls. I was light and I shot up, aimlessly dancing through the mud. I could not see. I could not feel anything. But that's what I wanted the most. I stepped into my shirt, I'm fairly sure of that, but I didn't mind. Let it sink into the mud. Let me sink into the mud, for all I care. I just wanted to feel. Reaching out, my hands came in contact with someone, and I traced a loop down their chest. |
attempt to catch word
c6BTzHWA1-4
ooc heather is blind yall
and a lil trippy cuz of gasses in her brain
and she wants to FUCK
oh and she did her trib challenge yep1-4
