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Post by Dyzzie on Oct 16, 2011 16:54:08 GMT -5
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Darkness. It's what a majority of the universe appears to look like. Empty Darkness. There may be a few pinpoints of light to brighten the darkness, but never will the brightness over take the dark. The same goes for the young, year and a half, morgan female. Her dark pelt was met with miss-matched eyes so dark you could barely tell they were two different colors. One was pure black, the other a dark brown that appeared black. And her mind was just as dark as her appearance. She smirked slightly as she trotted along, flicking her short tail against her legs as she moved. Her mane was beginning to grow out, falling along her neck, but not reaching her chest just yet. She moved quietly through the night, attempting to be as silent as possible.
She'd been raised as a child to be as silent as possible, to survive off being a true creep of the night, a freak, an abnormal sort. She laughed at the pain of others, lived of fear and scaring. She couldn't find anything better than disease and destruction. She was as different from other foals, as a flower was different from a cactus. Though, it is up to interpretation as to whether Wednesday is the cactus, or the flower. Though, if you were to ask the filly herself, she'd comment on being a cactus, finding that to be the more unpleasant of the two options. And, when it comes to this unique little girl, she likes life as unpleasant as possible, a most dreadfully awful life. Now that, in Wednesday's mind, is how one is suppose to live.
For one to believe otherwise, it is foolish. Happiness - overrated. Joy, and laughter, like nails to a chalkboard. No, that's wrong. I'd take nails to a chalkboard over laughter. But regardless, one does not know living if they spend all their time thinking about the wrong thing. What is the fun in living if you can't hurt someone occasionally? What is the fun in being alive, if you aren't making this state of being a complete and utter hell for someone else. It's not like we're suppose to always be nice and happy to others. There's no fun in that. If you want to have fun, take a page from my book. Send a foal running through a pack of wolves. Tell a mare to close here eyes and walk forward forty steps to a surprise, and watch her fall from a cliff . Now that, that is living, that is real fun. That is simply how you must do it.
And yet no one seems to understand that. And it's a true shame. They're all to worried about making their days full of rainbows and sunshine. Didn't they known that clouds, rain, thunder, and lightning makes the world more fun. To hear the crackle of fire, as lightning ignites the world. To hear the cries of those trapped by the flames? These beings, those stupid happy freaks, like the Liors, or the Briels, they simply don't know how to live. It's all about the darkness, the pain you can give to others. TO see them cry, to see them beg. To be the one on top. Now that is living. It's the only true living. And I swear, one day . . .
I'll make sure everyone knows just what it means to survive in the world to the fullest. I'll be the reigning star! I'll show them all! Let them learn from the master! It's time for a new order. Lightning struck from the dark heavens, the heavy clouds blocking out any light of the stars. Lightning lit the world with an eery glow, causing the demented little girl to look anything but what she was. A creature out of the darkest depths of her idea of fun. The light played off the trees of the jungle, caused the outer edges of the vines to glow in a halloween-style show. And it sent chills up her spine, wickedly, amazingly, perfect little chills. Now this was the sort of world, the sort of situation she lived for.
She continued to move so effortlessly through the blackened jungle, just as the rain began to fall, quickly soaking the jungle, and the young black filly wandering through it, as she grinned, lightning flashing, and reflecting of her fangs, as she did so. Oh yes. This was the life - this was the way to live. She only hoped that some day, someone else might be able to understand that too. maybe, one day, she'll finally meet someone just as . . . perfect as she was. Some day, maybe, she could only hope.
"Would you like to hear what I plan"
Oh, I'm only plotting your death
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