Mor`gruth
05-30-2005, 11:43 PM
(it's also published on my personal webpage)
He wears a ring because someone taught him to love, once. It's rather striking, small silver and knotted and bright against the crisp brown and green and black Battle Dress Uniform, like the sudden gleam of a barbell caught by the smokey eyes of the one student who decided she'd pay attention in World Lit today. A silent scream piercing the fields of a wordless rebellion fought every moment against the idiocies and facicists and monsters that plague his enigmatic dreamland, by a soul of wine and fire. That always brings a smile to his lips, tears once, given to pixels and megabits in a dark closet a world and years away, even when frozen earth falls from elegant fingers of a girl raised on tales of a pirate captain and a fairy princess, a motley crew of misfits and monsters and mayhem-mongers, a centaur and a harpy and a shape-shifter, somewhere humble harmless electrons will gouge into hearts and souls reading about the worth of dogtags. That little girl stares over her arms wrapped about the neck of the hard-assed sergeant with the same ever-changing eyes, into the curl-framed "countance" of a fairy queen. Later, after hours of world-watching and sing-song giggling tiny wide blue-steel eyes will watch a roguish Captain Wolffe waltz and two-step and tango the owner of a pair of tattered wings in the crumbling halls of a kingdom long-forgotten, made theirs for a few Euros and the high cost of his "singing" for the duration of sing-song giggling and patient smiling, both from the two women a tough as nails, hard-assed sergeant would fight bleeding and broken and forgotten for so that a little girl raised on pirate captains and fairy princesses never has to let frozen earth fall through elegant fingers. And he takes them to castles where fairies dance among crumbled stones so they can forget that someone taught him how to kill, once.
He wears a ring because someone taught him to love, once. It's rather striking, small silver and knotted and bright against the crisp brown and green and black Battle Dress Uniform, like the sudden gleam of a barbell caught by the smokey eyes of the one student who decided she'd pay attention in World Lit today. A silent scream piercing the fields of a wordless rebellion fought every moment against the idiocies and facicists and monsters that plague his enigmatic dreamland, by a soul of wine and fire. That always brings a smile to his lips, tears once, given to pixels and megabits in a dark closet a world and years away, even when frozen earth falls from elegant fingers of a girl raised on tales of a pirate captain and a fairy princess, a motley crew of misfits and monsters and mayhem-mongers, a centaur and a harpy and a shape-shifter, somewhere humble harmless electrons will gouge into hearts and souls reading about the worth of dogtags. That little girl stares over her arms wrapped about the neck of the hard-assed sergeant with the same ever-changing eyes, into the curl-framed "countance" of a fairy queen. Later, after hours of world-watching and sing-song giggling tiny wide blue-steel eyes will watch a roguish Captain Wolffe waltz and two-step and tango the owner of a pair of tattered wings in the crumbling halls of a kingdom long-forgotten, made theirs for a few Euros and the high cost of his "singing" for the duration of sing-song giggling and patient smiling, both from the two women a tough as nails, hard-assed sergeant would fight bleeding and broken and forgotten for so that a little girl raised on pirate captains and fairy princesses never has to let frozen earth fall through elegant fingers. And he takes them to castles where fairies dance among crumbled stones so they can forget that someone taught him how to kill, once.