Jayzree

The moonlight filtered through the sheet on the window, and the light breeze that flowed through the night seemed to tease and taunt at the fabric, pulling then pushing it from and into the bedroom.  Dietrich watched the little game the wind played with his bedding, as if in a trance.  He was not sure if he was more amused by that, or by the way the wrinkles seemed to make faces that changed within seconds, shifting and shaping themselves in the most bizarre ways.  He wasn't much of an artist, but he was almost inspired to pick up a pencil and pull out some of his old schoolwork from last year to try to doodle some of the more memorable faces

the sky outside is so drab and generally colorless. the gray clouds smother everything. the virtual emptiness is nearly enough to dampen even the most vibrant of spirits. the world itself, it appears washed out. the color seems to have melted, dripping off of its fixture in the long - falling drizzle before running heedlessly down the drains. it seems almost as if the cosmos has suddenly become the screen of an old black and white television. a sigh escapes unmoving lips, and bloodshot eyes narrow, then shut. watching the window hurt. watching the rain that had fallen, fallenfallenfallen for years was painful. for years, the neverend

The sun had sank rather low in the sky, signaling that though he didn't have a clock to tell him the time, it was probably nearing seven in the evening at this point.  The smell of blood lingered in the air, though it wasn't as suffocating as it had been to him seconds before.  His hands were still trembling, fingers still twitching almost involuntarily, causing unintentional shivers to race through the marrow of his spine, jerking his whole body awkwardly.  Despite not being sure he wanted to look back, green eyes drifted over the bloody pavement, coming to settle on the first visible glimpse of flesh that didn't belong to him. Laying in a p

the Silver Moon Shines but i can't seem to see the path –– And the bells ring in the silence; the Stars Glimmer In The Abyss but i don't see the dirt under my feet –– And the bells break the silence; the Clouds Devour The Sky but i can see your footsteps –– And the bells fill the silence. the Orange Sun Burns but i don't feel the heat –– And the bells fall to silence; the Birds' Wings Beat The Air Silently but i only hear a deafening thunder –– And the bells still to silence; the Buttermilk Sky is welcoming but i find myself feeling cold –– And the bells die in silen

 Hands. His hands had always been so expressive.  They had always shown so much about him. He couldn't really place why it was that he was so infatuated with those hands, but something about them had always drawn his attention to them. The first time they met, those hands had served a number of purposes.  He had defended himself with them by giving the wolf a thwack on the head on a few occasions.  They had been used to snatch up the ball that he had been brought, and they had been used to chuck it over the bridge.  At the time, they had been nothing but scabby scar tissue; pathetic excuses for hands, just scratches and scrapes from the