07-23-2016, 09:24 AM
Was it time that commanded sharp teeth? Fart would have said it were horses, or people. He had felt that keen sting many times, had been the butt of the joke, the source of sneer. Once hands had touched him, ones that hurt, ones that broke. Words had ended and rebuilt him in a single span of time, not done, not done, not done… There had also been gentle ones, kind hands and words. My greatest creation, my beauty… The words were memory now as were the caresses of crooked fingers but he could recall them, they had not left him and he would not let them leave.
Fart was an ugly thing, limey and roan. There was no mane to adorn his bare neck, no threads of green silk to soften his features. Had there been hope to soften them, ever? Birth had made sure the chances were slim, and though he was indeed born- he barely lived. Muddy brown eyes looked upon the world with a softness, an understanding and acceptance of its cruelty and hardship. To live was more than he deserved, was more than he could ask of anything. His lip split just under his nose, a parted curtain where teeth peeked through and breath hissed passed. He smelled, an unripeness, a sour stink that had plagued him since he could remember. Why? Well Fart doesn’t know and sometimes we don’t need to know, sometimes we must just accept what is.
The only reason Fart was so filled out was because he had been tossed back into the land of Beqanna, fresh from battle and hurting with memories. He had eaten well while with his friend Grumble, hay and grains tasting of nothing he could compare it too. If only he had some now he thought as he crossed the meadow, keeping his eyes to the ground as was his custom. If only he had some because it might mean that Grumble was okay, it might mean that his friend was not shattered with the existence of that other world.
Instead he silently wept at his loss, trails of tears leaking their way down his lime colored jaws. He dared not make a sound, not lament in earnest over his loss because it would only draw attention to him, would only bring more unwanted stares and jeers. No one wanted Fart around in this world, not like Grumble had. He was not needed in Beqanna, he was not useful and he was not adored. Once again he was alone, left to endure the world on two already burdened shoulders. There would be no more whispers of greatness, of beauty. There would be no more nights by a fireplace, warm and content as he spoke long into the night with a once Fairy Godfather.
Thoughts burdened Fart as he wandered the edges of the Meadow, eyes to the ground and head sagging low. Perhaps if he had bothered to look where he was going he would have seen the girl, the woman. He would have seen her and high-tailed the other way, careful to not offend her with his appearance, with his stink.
Fart was an ugly thing, limey and roan. There was no mane to adorn his bare neck, no threads of green silk to soften his features. Had there been hope to soften them, ever? Birth had made sure the chances were slim, and though he was indeed born- he barely lived. Muddy brown eyes looked upon the world with a softness, an understanding and acceptance of its cruelty and hardship. To live was more than he deserved, was more than he could ask of anything. His lip split just under his nose, a parted curtain where teeth peeked through and breath hissed passed. He smelled, an unripeness, a sour stink that had plagued him since he could remember. Why? Well Fart doesn’t know and sometimes we don’t need to know, sometimes we must just accept what is.
The only reason Fart was so filled out was because he had been tossed back into the land of Beqanna, fresh from battle and hurting with memories. He had eaten well while with his friend Grumble, hay and grains tasting of nothing he could compare it too. If only he had some now he thought as he crossed the meadow, keeping his eyes to the ground as was his custom. If only he had some because it might mean that Grumble was okay, it might mean that his friend was not shattered with the existence of that other world.
Instead he silently wept at his loss, trails of tears leaking their way down his lime colored jaws. He dared not make a sound, not lament in earnest over his loss because it would only draw attention to him, would only bring more unwanted stares and jeers. No one wanted Fart around in this world, not like Grumble had. He was not needed in Beqanna, he was not useful and he was not adored. Once again he was alone, left to endure the world on two already burdened shoulders. There would be no more whispers of greatness, of beauty. There would be no more nights by a fireplace, warm and content as he spoke long into the night with a once Fairy Godfather.
Thoughts burdened Fart as he wandered the edges of the Meadow, eyes to the ground and head sagging low. Perhaps if he had bothered to look where he was going he would have seen the girl, the woman. He would have seen her and high-tailed the other way, careful to not offend her with his appearance, with his stink.
dont you know that youre toxic?
