May I be weaved in your hair?

For the most part I'll be using this for the addition and creation of the stories and the giant tale that surrounds my characters. I really would love for anybody who reads this (if there ever will be an anybody) to give constructive criticism, comments, and sometimes even responses. I adore roleplaying so if you ever want to have a go at it, then leave me a line. Hmn, that's all for now. Happy birthday 'morningblush'.

Saturday, January 21, 2006

The night recovers; and his breathing is shallow, slowed by the whorl of oil-spill dreams someplace far away within his head. It's been quite some time since he last was here and for now he remains a hermit, carrying out the days mostly adrift from the real world like a dejected boat tied to a pier. The edge of his conscience carries an everlasting nagging thought; it is the knowledge that one day he will have to get up and get out.

Down the hallway and further down the rickety stairs is the kitchen where no fridge bothers to stand and a pantry door remains wide open as if just recently swung. All around the air is static and hidden beneath the floorboards is a smell that is seeping, rising with suspicious delay into the atmosphere. It is out to strike subtle fear and discontentment into those that bare nostrils near it. Luckily, he is on the second level and fails to be victimized.

Yes, the woods were wild and still its impressive beauty lingers as the scent of snowy air and pine in the ratty weave of his hair; stuff that has grown in mature magnificence all along the plain of his back between the sculpted arches of his shoulderblades till it has met the small of his back, where then it quiets.