Creative writing!

  1. Outcast
    OceanRaven / Aug 29 2020 5.20

    My mind is racing and whispers clapping through my head like thunder! I know what they are, I know where they are but I just can't look at them! I spring, dart, leap, soaring like an eagle and gliding through the streets! Almost...Almost!...........................

    "Who are you?" A voice so sonourous and deep it could ring through the earth and shatter it with it's niholism alone.

    I don't answer. I take a moment to inspect him-his eyes as if a physical storm is blazing inside of them like fire, his teeth like pearls so meticoulsy carved they loose they revined elegance-he had a sort of musky fragrence, almost as if he had just rollen around in dust-Had you presented this figure to me without context I would have supposed he was the earth itself. His eyes darker than death and hair like the colour of silence sweeping the night-as dark as a raven's wing of ink. His skin was smooth and close to flawless-however he had deep burns scarring his neck like a kimberlite of dry blood. His hands larger than my face, he was remarkably musculer but almost fat in a sense-not particulery obese however. This man had flaring nostrils as if fire had liten his soul and bursted like electrictiy through his body. His mouth deeply chapped. I believe the potency, the murderous fury almost made you trust him with your life-unless of course you tried to taken his. He was almost kind, nearly affectionate-and his burns made him look around his 50's, however, he was abundantly larger than that.

    "Poilce." His dire voice rumbled like a demon's about the pounce. "This is a poilce station."

    He was quite English, however seemed to be of some sort of African-American descent (Altough his tone was much closer to a dim black than the flaming mahogony I was used to). His lungs breathed as if sand was ->->

  2. Outcast
    OceanRaven / Aug 29 2020 23.10

    bearing down on them-the weight of a mountion. His deep, grey eyes had golden speckles like stars illuminating the night-but in a lacey brillence of amber and rose. His chin cleft-eyes menacing; there was a sort of passionate justice in those eyes-but, for all this, all this curiosty, intelligence, and-most probably potential-was the ambition. Darker than night was his traceless ambition. Like a zombie his face towered above me.

    I stay silenced: Play dumb, I thought-and drowsy and unintresting.

    "You threw a brick at a poilce car!"

    I glare at the mirror like a stone-expecting a response. I don't see me. I see a girl-a child-13, yes-As me. A girl with eyes with a thunderous fury and a dragons instencity all focused through the lense of golden irises like phoenix feather-I see ebony black hair and mahogony skin-I see it all, as I am. But it is not me. That was surely not me. I saw rags, a tattered and beaten doll of a human-I saw glass eyes and forboding darkness disapating like ions and dissolving the radiance of such a youthful face-I saw blue in my once amber eyes-Blue like ice-like diamonds-almost white. But I don't see me. No matter how hard I try-I see anouther human. A human without life-a member of existence no more important than a rock-I am now begging myself to stop but I see the complextion of nothing. No contrast. No difference. No black, no white-just all nothing. All everthing. I am nothing.

    And yet I see vacancy in the mirror-somthing, at least-grasping for emotion I glare further before electricity grasps my soul and grounds me into reality!

    "I'm Mary." I lie, I read somewhere that Mary was the most common name in existence-I can't remember where. "Mary Smith." Granted smith was not the most common second name, it was in whatever list I found Mary in.


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