drew johnson / d7 / (fin)

gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. Graphics 3,094 POSTS Pronouns: he/him last seen Apr 19, 2024 13:20:30 GMT -5	drew johnson / d7 / (fin) May 20, 2019 11:36:24 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on May 20, 2019 11:36:24 GMT -5 drew johnson angels are nothing but mere dust crushed into diamonds by the weight of the world — The OA district seven. 18. divinity laced into bones.
	Last Edit: May 26, 2019 12:32:19 GMT -5 by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. 堕落天使

gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
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last seen Apr 19, 2024 13:20:30 GMT -5

drew johnson / d7 / (fin) May 21, 2019 15:05:28 GMT -5

Quote

Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on May 21, 2019 15:05:28 GMT -5

There had always been a part of Drew Johnson that believed in angels. These creatures were a different breed from the ones in popular depictions, with ivory wings and fire haloes.

No, these angels he confided in were quite ordinary, bird-boned and sun-washed. Their eyes wore glimpses of old forests and their bodies existed in a variety of states, in a spectrum of forms. Some were dormant angels, the ones who slumbered in dark caverns, their delicate snores reverberating on themselves like an ancient, holy mantra. Some were the ones that rushed through golden meadows and sun-kissed prairies, making the wheat and the maize sway in free, ecstatic motion. Some tapped on Drew’s windowpane in the form of light drizzles, their cool touch condensing to rain droplets on the glass muddy with scratches. Some voyeured at others from within old oak trees and birches, and that was the reason why most children said they felt stalked by dark forests, or their own orchards. Some existed as stars overhead.

The ones Drew encountered every night were the dream angels. They were beautiful in a way that kaleidoscopes were — a fractured, spangled sort of beauty that echoed and danced interpretively in bizarre motifs. Drew had forever seen them in his slumbers but, at first, he regarded them as mere dreams, spectral visions. But, soon, it became clear they were something more, something divine. The dream that grasped and captured Drew’s faith was the one in which the angels communicated with him.

They were gossamer-thin, like spun silk, and they weren’t exactly talking. No, they were whispering from the very domes and spirals of Drew’s memories — webbing over the memories of summer with his two parents, webbing over a sepia-colored memory of his sister with a lopsided grin, webbing over memories of everything and nothing. They spoke in languages that were composed long before the one Drew used to speak in, ancient tongues and raucous, resonant syllables. They spoke, and Drew immediately understood what they wanted him to do. There were two ways prophets came into being, either by faking their own divinity or by heeding the words of a true, divine being. That night, near the witching hour, when the sky was thundering and rain pelted down on the roof of his bedroom mercilessly, he was said the words. That night, he started to believe. That night, he became a teenage prophet.

When you believed in impossible things, others sought to destroy these beliefs, sought to paint a coat of reality over the shimmering colors. Drew’s beliefs were too transcendental and eccentric — and oh, if he got a dime for anytime he’d been labeled a freak show for those beliefs, he’d be neck-deep in gold.

Living with his beliefs in solitude wasn’t an adversity, being tasked by his dream angels to share them was. And because a part of him that believed in these impossible things existed, a part that was reluctant to also did, the two warring constantly. Some days, he would scrape open a box of cigarettes and laugh about how it was all stories in his head.

But, Drew Johnson did not have much to believe in. The summers he spent with his parents were wasted with pointless arguments amongst the trio and his sister lived with her own separate beliefs. Loneliness clung to him like a cruel second skin until the angels granted him a sword to cut all of it off. He was their sacred avenger, his words their flaming swords, his hands their holy ones, his eyes their own. He’d been told by his therapist that these angels were nothing but repressed issues, surfacing as something more, but Drew believed the contrary, as he always had. And, believing in angels was much more realistic than believing that destinies were scripted in constellations, or a toss of gold coins in a well caused wishes to come true. It was a harmless belief, but a vital one because it was all Drew had ever known. He was their divine mouthpiece, a prophet with feverish dreams and calloused hands. He had swallowed their message whole; now, he was tasked to spew it out to the world.

Angels were real and they lived within him.

Last Edit: May 26, 2019 12:30:41 GMT -5 by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.

堕落天使

gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. Graphics 3,094 POSTS Pronouns: he/him last seen Apr 19, 2024 13:20:30 GMT -5	drew johnson / d7 / (fin) May 26, 2019 12:32:06 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on May 26, 2019 12:32:06 GMT -5 he's done! a lil' different from my other characters :eyes:
	堕落天使

Tom Moderator 5,143 POSTS Pronouns: He/Him last seen Apr 17, 2024 3:19:13 GMT -5 OowoO	drew johnson / d7 / (fin) May 27, 2019 8:53:50 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Tom on May 27, 2019 8:53:50 GMT -5 Another brilliant masterpiece <3 "He had swallowed their message whole; now, he was tasked to spew it out to the world. Angels were real and they lived within him."
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