te hear a lonesome bird call as te wander out of the forest. It is dull and misty. The sky is concrete, te can taste rain in the air.
Fell it on the breeze.
But te don't care, te keep waking. Walking into the opening where the trees grow ever più sparse. Where the woodland meets the grassland and all that remains are the twigs and trunks the forest had coughed out. Your bate feet slide over the greenest dewy grass. And here te arrive with a sense of peace despite the chilly drizzle that has just begun to fall. A few più steps have te standing in the center of an earthy ring. te are surrounded da stumps of all shapes and sizes. Some are spindly, white, and knobby with think fingers that seem to swirl the mist. Others are thick, rough, and deep brown. Some are smooth and tan and seem to reach the sky as if they want to touch the stars as badly as te do. And others have been tampered da the faefolk. These are mostly the tall and tan ones. They carve intricate and swirly runes into them. te haven't learned to decipher them. And at the topmost part of the tree, wood of other trees (pine, willow, fir, and birch) are tethered in such a fashion that has them looking like a wooden version of a feathered war bonnet.
The land is very nearly empty of everything else, save for a boulder o two. te don't even pay the boulders much mind, but te notice the twin-protector seals. Three vertical slashes and a horizontal line through the middle with a dot on the bottom corner--the giorno protector. And on the other rock are four horizontal lines with two diagonal slashes through the middle and a dot on the upper corner--the night protector. They glow faintly orange. Someone has left the feather of a white faced owl--bound with the stem of heather--at the foot of the stone. te have arrived at your destination.
A few early rising fireflies are already gathering at the base of the stumps. These are detto to be the spirits of the faefolk. Of the elven. Of the nymphs and druids. And of the trees themselves. That makes sense, after all, that's what this place is...
A graveyard for the kin of the forest. For natures purest creations. te know this because the fate have told you. te had followed them here.
But they have not told te why.
Somehow te get the feeling that the forest and the magic are dying. For più and più skeletal structures seem to be pooping up on the hillside with their billowing smoke and grating noises. And with them più woodsy structures erect here in the clearing. te breathe in, resin fills your nostrils, te can practically taste it. But there's something else.
Something is laced in the mist.
It's poison.
The old world is dying and you're standing on its resting ground.
The drizzle grows into a shower.
Fell it on the breeze.
But te don't care, te keep waking. Walking into the opening where the trees grow ever più sparse. Where the woodland meets the grassland and all that remains are the twigs and trunks the forest had coughed out. Your bate feet slide over the greenest dewy grass. And here te arrive with a sense of peace despite the chilly drizzle that has just begun to fall. A few più steps have te standing in the center of an earthy ring. te are surrounded da stumps of all shapes and sizes. Some are spindly, white, and knobby with think fingers that seem to swirl the mist. Others are thick, rough, and deep brown. Some are smooth and tan and seem to reach the sky as if they want to touch the stars as badly as te do. And others have been tampered da the faefolk. These are mostly the tall and tan ones. They carve intricate and swirly runes into them. te haven't learned to decipher them. And at the topmost part of the tree, wood of other trees (pine, willow, fir, and birch) are tethered in such a fashion that has them looking like a wooden version of a feathered war bonnet.
The land is very nearly empty of everything else, save for a boulder o two. te don't even pay the boulders much mind, but te notice the twin-protector seals. Three vertical slashes and a horizontal line through the middle with a dot on the bottom corner--the giorno protector. And on the other rock are four horizontal lines with two diagonal slashes through the middle and a dot on the upper corner--the night protector. They glow faintly orange. Someone has left the feather of a white faced owl--bound with the stem of heather--at the foot of the stone. te have arrived at your destination.
A few early rising fireflies are already gathering at the base of the stumps. These are detto to be the spirits of the faefolk. Of the elven. Of the nymphs and druids. And of the trees themselves. That makes sense, after all, that's what this place is...
A graveyard for the kin of the forest. For natures purest creations. te know this because the fate have told you. te had followed them here.
But they have not told te why.
Somehow te get the feeling that the forest and the magic are dying. For più and più skeletal structures seem to be pooping up on the hillside with their billowing smoke and grating noises. And with them più woodsy structures erect here in the clearing. te breathe in, resin fills your nostrils, te can practically taste it. But there's something else.
Something is laced in the mist.
It's poison.
The old world is dying and you're standing on its resting ground.
The drizzle grows into a shower.
You’re the reason why
I have to lie
Why I hurt so much
That my heart’s in a clutch
I’m slowly dying
‘Cause of your lying
te used to be my magic
But now you’re a dick
te made me long to be
Everything that wasn’t Lee
But look where that got me
Locked in without a key
If only te knew
That I plummeted deeper than blue
But then again
You’re just another two timing has been
te ran away
Thinking it’d be okay
But te were wrong
più so than any Amore song
te made me want to sing
With te following
But look at how wrong I was
Believing te that it was just “buzz”
Now you’re the reason why
I cannot do anything but cry
I have to lie
Why I hurt so much
That my heart’s in a clutch
I’m slowly dying
‘Cause of your lying
te used to be my magic
But now you’re a dick
te made me long to be
Everything that wasn’t Lee
But look where that got me
Locked in without a key
If only te knew
That I plummeted deeper than blue
But then again
You’re just another two timing has been
te ran away
Thinking it’d be okay
But te were wrong
più so than any Amore song
te made me want to sing
With te following
But look at how wrong I was
Believing te that it was just “buzz”
Now you’re the reason why
I cannot do anything but cry
The Pillsbury Doughboy died yesterday of a yeast infection and trauma complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71. Doughboy was buried in a lightly greased coffin. Dozens of celebritàs turned out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch. The gravesite was piled high with flours. Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy and lovingly described Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded. Doughboy rose quickly in mostra business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Despite being a little flaky at times he still was a crusty old man and was considered a positive roll model for millions. Doughboy is survived da his wife Play Dough, two children, John Dough and Jane Dough, plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived da his elderly father, Pop Tart.
I breathed in and out slowly. This was horrid. Running. I spat at the word. I despised running.
Joseph jogged up to me. "You okay Kristen?"
"Yeah, just give me a minute."
"Hah! te always end up like this. Maybe te should quit track?"
"You know I can't! If I do, then I have to do Trigonometry. Ugh. That's worse."
"Right..."
I stood up and we walked in silence. His lithe step did not match mine. I had a clumsy, trip over step. I needed somebody to teach me how to walk right.
"Oof." I had tripped, and landed on my side. How? I have no idea. Normal people land on their face o back. Not me!
Please e-mail me o comment. Tell me if te like this segment o not, if I get enought votes, I will continue my writing.
Joseph jogged up to me. "You okay Kristen?"
"Yeah, just give me a minute."
"Hah! te always end up like this. Maybe te should quit track?"
"You know I can't! If I do, then I have to do Trigonometry. Ugh. That's worse."
"Right..."
I stood up and we walked in silence. His lithe step did not match mine. I had a clumsy, trip over step. I needed somebody to teach me how to walk right.
"Oof." I had tripped, and landed on my side. How? I have no idea. Normal people land on their face o back. Not me!
Please e-mail me o comment. Tell me if te like this segment o not, if I get enought votes, I will continue my writing.