Your nerves all cut to ribbon, you can barely eat
Lost, so very very lost.
They say curiosity killed the cat, and it might just kill him too.
A slight yet tall figure moves through the damp streets, gait growing increasingly more agitated and unpredictable as the clock winds round and round. Everything is dark, save for the flickering of poorly maintained streetlights and the glimmer of lights behind curtains in the buildings around impossibly narrow roads. Up and up they stretch, as if reaching the the Plate above.
In the darkness, the far windows look like distorted, massive stars. What a nightmare.
Though it's not really raining down here (the Plates are at least good for that) everything is still somehow wet. The echoes of a downpour reverberate off the too-close walls, mixed with a disjointed choir of voices. And him, he's too clean, too well kempt for the locals to pay him any mind. Despite the fact his skin is like ivory and his clothes are drab and lifeless, he stands out like an ingrown hair to the trained eyes of the Drenchers. So, even when he haltingly asks for directions, most ignore him and continue about their way, while others just give lazy gestures in a general direction.
It's not until the sound of rain seems to dissipate for a moment, followed by an eerie calm, that our lost boy has any sense that something is wrong. Very very wrong.
The crowds of people swirl in new patterns, all scurrying away from the streets like roaches fleeing from a sudden light. The previously bustling street looks a ghost town - just as unnerving and quiet. That's when you start to hear it.
A cacophonous sound of metal and plastic banging violently against cement as it's carried along by a roaring wall of water. Our scant figure stands still in the middle of the street, eyes turned in the direction of the sound, with a pitiful smile upon an otherwise expressionless face. He knows what is coming, though he has no idea what to do about it now. The flood.
A voice that sounds miles away starts to call out insistently to him.
-OAD
-ET OU...
-E ROAD
His attention shifts to see a hand reaching like powerful claws for his dainty arm, pulling him violently to the side. The words being yelled before finally register:
GET OUT OF THE ROAD.
It's too late, though. The water comes pouring into the vacant street from every direction. "Oh," is all that manages to dumbly slip past his lips. The once quiet, placid road becomes a visual nightmare and the sound is so loud that it hurts his ears. And just like that, his feet lose their sense of the road, and away they go.
Morality, if not a sense of survival, seems to thwack him upside the head at this point. After all, his would be savior risked their life to try to save his, and so it's with a sense of frustration and regret that he clings desperately to a floating scrap of something to stay above the surface of the water. His other arm is still being held desperately by someone else, but the fingers stretch to try to find something to hold onto - a handle, wall, doorway, fire escape - anything.
[ anyone care for a swim? ]
They say curiosity killed the cat, and it might just kill him too.
A slight yet tall figure moves through the damp streets, gait growing increasingly more agitated and unpredictable as the clock winds round and round. Everything is dark, save for the flickering of poorly maintained streetlights and the glimmer of lights behind curtains in the buildings around impossibly narrow roads. Up and up they stretch, as if reaching the the Plate above.
In the darkness, the far windows look like distorted, massive stars. What a nightmare.
Though it's not really raining down here (the Plates are at least good for that) everything is still somehow wet. The echoes of a downpour reverberate off the too-close walls, mixed with a disjointed choir of voices. And him, he's too clean, too well kempt for the locals to pay him any mind. Despite the fact his skin is like ivory and his clothes are drab and lifeless, he stands out like an ingrown hair to the trained eyes of the Drenchers. So, even when he haltingly asks for directions, most ignore him and continue about their way, while others just give lazy gestures in a general direction.
It's not until the sound of rain seems to dissipate for a moment, followed by an eerie calm, that our lost boy has any sense that something is wrong. Very very wrong.
The crowds of people swirl in new patterns, all scurrying away from the streets like roaches fleeing from a sudden light. The previously bustling street looks a ghost town - just as unnerving and quiet. That's when you start to hear it.
A cacophonous sound of metal and plastic banging violently against cement as it's carried along by a roaring wall of water. Our scant figure stands still in the middle of the street, eyes turned in the direction of the sound, with a pitiful smile upon an otherwise expressionless face. He knows what is coming, though he has no idea what to do about it now. The flood.
A voice that sounds miles away starts to call out insistently to him.
-OAD
-ET OU...
-E ROAD
His attention shifts to see a hand reaching like powerful claws for his dainty arm, pulling him violently to the side. The words being yelled before finally register:
GET OUT OF THE ROAD.
It's too late, though. The water comes pouring into the vacant street from every direction. "Oh," is all that manages to dumbly slip past his lips. The once quiet, placid road becomes a visual nightmare and the sound is so loud that it hurts his ears. And just like that, his feet lose their sense of the road, and away they go.
Morality, if not a sense of survival, seems to thwack him upside the head at this point. After all, his would be savior risked their life to try to save his, and so it's with a sense of frustration and regret that he clings desperately to a floating scrap of something to stay above the surface of the water. His other arm is still being held desperately by someone else, but the fingers stretch to try to find something to hold onto - a handle, wall, doorway, fire escape - anything.
[ anyone care for a swim? ]
You're far from home, far from home
Owen
