07-26-2016, 08:31 AM
For some time is a precious commodity, the commodity. For Fart time was confusing, he couldn’t wrap his head around it and how it came and went, both slow and quick in intervals- on a whim of its own. Maybe he wasn’t meant to understand anything about it but it didn’t keep him from wanting to or trying.
It is his own insecurities that unravel him, that stop him before he can proceed down a path of change. Change was hard, for most beings, and Fart was not immune to the desire to resist it. He was immobile then, hooves planted firmly on the ground, either unable or unwilling to move. He could progress forward, he probably even should but instead Fart was feeling stuck. All he had to do was continue to propel himself forward, maybe open up his mouth and say hello. It wasn’t so easy though, the thought process was there but he was hard pressed to follow through.
What an odd statue he made. A vivid green mortar, incomplete in ways with no mane and a split lip. Someone must have fallen asleep on the job.
At first he watched her, too afraid to move even as she drew closer to him. Close, far too close and when she is almost upon him he jerks, shies back a pace. Most of the time when something was coming at him it was a sure sign of hostility, never good, almost always painful. He expects no less this time, assumptions getting the best of him and he readied for the heat that was to follow. But it didn’t, instead she spoke to him, ever so softly like a whisper among wildflowers. The breeze coaxing the words from the silent blooms as they swayed to its entrancing melody. Even as the word scratched her vocals he could not hear it, could not discern the disuse because the tone of it was ever so nice, so kind. It didn’t hurt when she spoke and he found himself interested in the words.
Two lime green ears pull themselves forward on his skull, his muddy brown eyes showing a deep sense of curiosity but also a healthy dose of uncertainty. The lines were hard around them, the creases deep at their edges but he was not at all old- just worn. “Oh- oh, um, hello,” he manages, still surprised and shocked anyone was speaking to him at all. “Who am I? Well, I’m Fart but no one really. What’s your name?” She was probably someone, had to be, weren’t the nice looking horses always somebodies?
It is his own insecurities that unravel him, that stop him before he can proceed down a path of change. Change was hard, for most beings, and Fart was not immune to the desire to resist it. He was immobile then, hooves planted firmly on the ground, either unable or unwilling to move. He could progress forward, he probably even should but instead Fart was feeling stuck. All he had to do was continue to propel himself forward, maybe open up his mouth and say hello. It wasn’t so easy though, the thought process was there but he was hard pressed to follow through.
What an odd statue he made. A vivid green mortar, incomplete in ways with no mane and a split lip. Someone must have fallen asleep on the job.
At first he watched her, too afraid to move even as she drew closer to him. Close, far too close and when she is almost upon him he jerks, shies back a pace. Most of the time when something was coming at him it was a sure sign of hostility, never good, almost always painful. He expects no less this time, assumptions getting the best of him and he readied for the heat that was to follow. But it didn’t, instead she spoke to him, ever so softly like a whisper among wildflowers. The breeze coaxing the words from the silent blooms as they swayed to its entrancing melody. Even as the word scratched her vocals he could not hear it, could not discern the disuse because the tone of it was ever so nice, so kind. It didn’t hurt when she spoke and he found himself interested in the words.
Two lime green ears pull themselves forward on his skull, his muddy brown eyes showing a deep sense of curiosity but also a healthy dose of uncertainty. The lines were hard around them, the creases deep at their edges but he was not at all old- just worn. “Oh- oh, um, hello,” he manages, still surprised and shocked anyone was speaking to him at all. “Who am I? Well, I’m Fart but no one really. What’s your name?” She was probably someone, had to be, weren’t the nice looking horses always somebodies?
dont you know that youre toxic?
