Post by Deleted on Apr 1, 2016 0:34:45 GMT -8
(OOC: I do give a warning if you've ever or are currently dealing with depression, because this stuff gets pretty dark. Or if you just don't like dark stuff period, well, I suggest not reading the italics.)
Forests were always Arathorn’s home. The house that his mother used to live in, the one that held the bed his parents had him sleep in, that was home away from home. Although it made many uncomfortable and cause them to feel out of place, the forest held Arathorn like a second mother, keeping him warm and safe.
This is why Arathorn came out there so often and why he was out there now. Various whistles from the different birds, the occasional creaking of the trees, and the sound of what seemed like ovations from the perfectly green leaves when the wind raced by all met his ears as if God wished to please him with a symphony of nature. It even provided him a seat for their performance: an outstretched branch of a pine tree that he had climbed up to.
For his eyes God painted the picture of the sun’s rays glinting through the thin needles and leaves of the trees, providing streaks of gold into the forest. The leaves all glowed with a brilliant emerald color when the sun attempted to hide behind them. Below him the forest shrubs wobbled in the wind, but still remained up as if they were too stubborn to just let the wind push them gracefully.
There were so many companies that tried to imitate the fragrance of pine, whether it was through fragrance spray or something you hang on your car’s rear-view mirror, but nothing could come close to the real thing. Something peaceful, soothing, and relaxing could come from just sitting in a tree.
Something… a little too relaxing in this case. He didn’t even realize it, but as he sat in that pine branch about 40 feet from the forest floor, Arathorn’s eyelids gradually slid down over his eyes, closing them as he fell into a sleep.
Baby cries suddenly met Arathorn’s ears. Bright lights surrounded him and most of his vision was blurry. He could see nothing clearly other than one thing: his family. His little sister was in his arms, her cries finally settling down into just little murmurs. Her fragile and delicate fingers wrapped around his own. He felt himself smile again, a genuine, pure smile of happiness. As he looked up, his mother was looking back at him with a loving smile and gentle eyes from her place laying on the hospital bed; beside her stood his father Eugene, the idol of his life, also returning Arathorn’s gaze with one that was both proud and tear-filled. The boy had never been happier before.
The murmurs suddenly went quiet as his parents’ eyes went from loving and kind to shocked and horrified. In a response of fear and confusion Arathorn quickly bolted his head down to see what was wrong. His little sister wasn’t silent because she was happy or asleep, but because she had died. Her blood slowly spread across Arathorn’s sleeves staining them crimson. “What? No, no-“ his voice trembled in terror and helplessness. As his horror-struck eyes rose back up to his parents, his father was no longer standing; he was sitting on the ground, cuts covered his arms along with the blood that trickled from them. The mother Eugene once stood beside was now dead also, the petrifying sound of the never-ending beep of a dead heart sounding in his ears louder and louder.
“Mom, Dad, no, no,-
“-NO!!” the scream sounded throughout the forest, loud enough to cause several birds to fly off. Arathorn woke up violently in a sweat and a quickly-beating heart before he unexpectedly began to fall. Being startled by the nightmare, his body had shaken enough to throw off his balance completely.
His body fell, faster and faster, branches slinging and slicing his face on the way down as he yelled almost just as loudly as he had in the dream. The instant the branches had disappeared, the white haired teen could see the ground; he could see his death racing towards him like a freight train.
For a split second, Arathorn had the most unexpected thought: Why was he afraid to die? Why did he have a reason to live? He had lost everything. He had no friends that really cared about him all that much yet. Sure, he had met a couple people that he had had some decent conversations with, some meaningful conversations, but how much would they cared if that one white haired kid just happened to not be at school? Would they even notice? Why would they care?
Maybe it’s okay to die…
He felt the ground meet his feet…slowly. His heart still rushed faster than the speed of light it seems, his hands still were in and X position, his eyes were still squinted shut from bracing himself, and he was still hurled over, except this time over one knee. Slowly opening his eyes, he stared at his shadow; a pair of eagle wings arose from behind him. After taking what seemed like an hour to comprehend what he was seeing, Arathorn’s head twisted around to see the two glowing white wings, still shining with a power that he had never seen. They had somehow come from his back and slowed him down just enough for him to land on the ground harmlessly; in fact, he wouldn’t even develop a bruise from this.
As he stood up, Arathorn kept his eyes fixed onto his newfound wings. He tried moving them, and succeeded. They moved at his command, at his thought. Of course, as anyone would when they got wings, he tried to fly. That proved to be impossible, and as he figured out in his head after he tried this, the wings weren’t the right size to generate enough lift for flight. However, they were undoubtedly big enough for him to glide, should he be, well, 40 feet in the air.
After a few minutes experimenting with them, he realized there were quite a few uses. He could wrap his body in them for protection if necessary, he could use them to strike things, and, obviously, glide. Unfortunately, they dissipated after the few minutes they had been out; it must be some kind of power or energy, one that could be depleted, however regained after a certain amount of time.
“Those will be quite useful in the future…” Arathorn stated to himself under his breath. After a bit of thinking his head went back, his gaze turned to the sky. “Thank you, Mom,” he whispered, a smile managing to slip past his walls that forbid emotion. Wiping and dusting himself off as he had forgotten to do earlier, he started back towards his house, or at least a lower tree.
Maybe it’s okay to live…
Forests were always Arathorn’s home. The house that his mother used to live in, the one that held the bed his parents had him sleep in, that was home away from home. Although it made many uncomfortable and cause them to feel out of place, the forest held Arathorn like a second mother, keeping him warm and safe.
This is why Arathorn came out there so often and why he was out there now. Various whistles from the different birds, the occasional creaking of the trees, and the sound of what seemed like ovations from the perfectly green leaves when the wind raced by all met his ears as if God wished to please him with a symphony of nature. It even provided him a seat for their performance: an outstretched branch of a pine tree that he had climbed up to.
For his eyes God painted the picture of the sun’s rays glinting through the thin needles and leaves of the trees, providing streaks of gold into the forest. The leaves all glowed with a brilliant emerald color when the sun attempted to hide behind them. Below him the forest shrubs wobbled in the wind, but still remained up as if they were too stubborn to just let the wind push them gracefully.
There were so many companies that tried to imitate the fragrance of pine, whether it was through fragrance spray or something you hang on your car’s rear-view mirror, but nothing could come close to the real thing. Something peaceful, soothing, and relaxing could come from just sitting in a tree.
Something… a little too relaxing in this case. He didn’t even realize it, but as he sat in that pine branch about 40 feet from the forest floor, Arathorn’s eyelids gradually slid down over his eyes, closing them as he fell into a sleep.
Baby cries suddenly met Arathorn’s ears. Bright lights surrounded him and most of his vision was blurry. He could see nothing clearly other than one thing: his family. His little sister was in his arms, her cries finally settling down into just little murmurs. Her fragile and delicate fingers wrapped around his own. He felt himself smile again, a genuine, pure smile of happiness. As he looked up, his mother was looking back at him with a loving smile and gentle eyes from her place laying on the hospital bed; beside her stood his father Eugene, the idol of his life, also returning Arathorn’s gaze with one that was both proud and tear-filled. The boy had never been happier before.
The murmurs suddenly went quiet as his parents’ eyes went from loving and kind to shocked and horrified. In a response of fear and confusion Arathorn quickly bolted his head down to see what was wrong. His little sister wasn’t silent because she was happy or asleep, but because she had died. Her blood slowly spread across Arathorn’s sleeves staining them crimson. “What? No, no-“ his voice trembled in terror and helplessness. As his horror-struck eyes rose back up to his parents, his father was no longer standing; he was sitting on the ground, cuts covered his arms along with the blood that trickled from them. The mother Eugene once stood beside was now dead also, the petrifying sound of the never-ending beep of a dead heart sounding in his ears louder and louder.
“Mom, Dad, no, no,-
“-NO!!” the scream sounded throughout the forest, loud enough to cause several birds to fly off. Arathorn woke up violently in a sweat and a quickly-beating heart before he unexpectedly began to fall. Being startled by the nightmare, his body had shaken enough to throw off his balance completely.
His body fell, faster and faster, branches slinging and slicing his face on the way down as he yelled almost just as loudly as he had in the dream. The instant the branches had disappeared, the white haired teen could see the ground; he could see his death racing towards him like a freight train.
For a split second, Arathorn had the most unexpected thought: Why was he afraid to die? Why did he have a reason to live? He had lost everything. He had no friends that really cared about him all that much yet. Sure, he had met a couple people that he had had some decent conversations with, some meaningful conversations, but how much would they cared if that one white haired kid just happened to not be at school? Would they even notice? Why would they care?
Maybe it’s okay to die…
He felt the ground meet his feet…slowly. His heart still rushed faster than the speed of light it seems, his hands still were in and X position, his eyes were still squinted shut from bracing himself, and he was still hurled over, except this time over one knee. Slowly opening his eyes, he stared at his shadow; a pair of eagle wings arose from behind him. After taking what seemed like an hour to comprehend what he was seeing, Arathorn’s head twisted around to see the two glowing white wings, still shining with a power that he had never seen. They had somehow come from his back and slowed him down just enough for him to land on the ground harmlessly; in fact, he wouldn’t even develop a bruise from this.
As he stood up, Arathorn kept his eyes fixed onto his newfound wings. He tried moving them, and succeeded. They moved at his command, at his thought. Of course, as anyone would when they got wings, he tried to fly. That proved to be impossible, and as he figured out in his head after he tried this, the wings weren’t the right size to generate enough lift for flight. However, they were undoubtedly big enough for him to glide, should he be, well, 40 feet in the air.
After a few minutes experimenting with them, he realized there were quite a few uses. He could wrap his body in them for protection if necessary, he could use them to strike things, and, obviously, glide. Unfortunately, they dissipated after the few minutes they had been out; it must be some kind of power or energy, one that could be depleted, however regained after a certain amount of time.
“Those will be quite useful in the future…” Arathorn stated to himself under his breath. After a bit of thinking his head went back, his gaze turned to the sky. “Thank you, Mom,” he whispered, a smile managing to slip past his walls that forbid emotion. Wiping and dusting himself off as he had forgotten to do earlier, he started back towards his house, or at least a lower tree.
Maybe it’s okay to live…