02-09-2020, 11:01 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Playfair+Display' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .jarris_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background: url('https://i.postimg.cc/ZnNLMJFh/jarris-bg.png'); width: 600px; padding: 0 0 0 0; min-height: 500px; border: solid 3px #24292f; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .jarris_container p { margin: 0; } .jarris_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; } .jarris_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 550px; background: #24292f; margin-top: 25px; margin-bottom: -50px; border: solid 1px #000; box-shadow: 0px 0px 29px 1px #000; } .jarris_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #7e868a; padding: 30px; line-height: 1.45em; } .jarris_name { position: absolute; z-index: 10; font: 130px 'Playfair Display', serif; text-transform: uppercase; color: #4b4549; bottom: 30px; right: 0px; letter-spacing: 5px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #000; } .jarris_quote { position: absolute; z-index: 12; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic; color: #b3b6b7; bottom: 96px; right: 5px; } </style> <center> <div class="jarris_container"> <div class="jarris_text"> <p class="jarris_message">
It kicks the air out of his chest.
Opens up a gaping chasm in the pit of his gut.
He has never fallen from quite this high.
And when the dust settles, he is aware only of the sound of his own pulse thundering in his ears. He does not hear her now, his daughter, doesn’t hear much of anything at all as he tests the limbs and rises. As far as he can tell, there is nothing broken. He turns to seek out the place where the earth had given way but sees nothing but impenetrable darkness.
The once-king does not panic. But then, he never has. Because there is nothing productive in it. He trembles with the adrenaline that pollutes his bloodstream and drags in a thin breath as both the eyes and the ears adjust to the darkness and the acoustics here.
And when he turns again, she is standing there. “<B>Kennice,</b>” he blurts in surprise, relief surging through him. Because she is here and she’s all right and, together, they’ll be able to find a way out. But her expression remains smooth, unchanged, as she opens her mouth and speaks. There is a tone to her voice that he does not recognize and his brow darkens in confusion as she turns from him and hurries into the darkness.
There is nothing for them behind him, the earth seeming to have swallowed them both whole before it closed itself up again, so he follows. And he blames the gnawing uncertainty at the very center of him on the unusual circumstances, the way his daughter flits in and out of focus, always just out of reach. He chooses not to acknowledge the heartbeat in the earth underfoot or the way the walls heave like lungs. Every so often he loses his footing, shying away from something in the dark that he senses but does not see, catching himself off-guard each time. Because when he peers into the shadows, he sees nothing. But the pulse quickens and there is a very real fear that tightens a fist around his windpipe as the two of them hurry deeper into the earth.
There is a period of time where he loses sight of her entirely. He is old now and, though he is immortal, he is not immune to the way exhaustion eats away at muscle. His sides heave wild with his gasping breath. And then she looms back into view again, always several steps ahead, cast in an eerie glow by the fungi on the walls. It is a strange place, certainly, but he has never traveled underground before and has no way of knowing that this is not simply the way the earth behaves beneath its surface. Beqanna is a land of magic, after all. And the voices he hears that do not belong to his daughter must belong to the spirits that make it so, he thinks. Or, at least, tries to convince himself.
He has no way of knowing how much time has passed until, finally, he reaches her. So focused on her is he that he does not immediately notice the reason for her stopping. Another great hole in the earth. This one filled with water. But not just any water. It has a current. A wild, raging thing. Rapids cut through the center of the cave coming from someplace unknown and disappearing into the darkness. The rush of the water is so loud that he cannot hear himself think. There is ice in the water, too. Great chunks of it. He thinks of the Tundra. His beloved Tundra. Wonders if this is where it’s ended up. Underground.
The pulse quickens even still. And, though he’s standing, he’s finding it even more difficult to breathe. He knows that it is not productive to panic but this seems an impossible thing to cross. “<B>I don’t know that we can make it, Kennice,</b>” he says. And it is not the water that scares him so much as the idea that he and his daughter might die down here, alone. He should have waken Plumeria, told him where he’d gone. It seems so silly now, as he turns his gaze on his daughter and woefully shakes his head.</div> <div class="jarris_name">jarris</div> <div class="jarris_quote">now I’ve been crazy, couldn’t you tell? I threw stones at the stars, but the whole sky fell</div> <img class="jarris_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/2y1t8pQH/jarris3.png"> </div> </center>
It kicks the air out of his chest.
Opens up a gaping chasm in the pit of his gut.
He has never fallen from quite this high.
And when the dust settles, he is aware only of the sound of his own pulse thundering in his ears. He does not hear her now, his daughter, doesn’t hear much of anything at all as he tests the limbs and rises. As far as he can tell, there is nothing broken. He turns to seek out the place where the earth had given way but sees nothing but impenetrable darkness.
The once-king does not panic. But then, he never has. Because there is nothing productive in it. He trembles with the adrenaline that pollutes his bloodstream and drags in a thin breath as both the eyes and the ears adjust to the darkness and the acoustics here.
And when he turns again, she is standing there. “<B>Kennice,</b>” he blurts in surprise, relief surging through him. Because she is here and she’s all right and, together, they’ll be able to find a way out. But her expression remains smooth, unchanged, as she opens her mouth and speaks. There is a tone to her voice that he does not recognize and his brow darkens in confusion as she turns from him and hurries into the darkness.
There is nothing for them behind him, the earth seeming to have swallowed them both whole before it closed itself up again, so he follows. And he blames the gnawing uncertainty at the very center of him on the unusual circumstances, the way his daughter flits in and out of focus, always just out of reach. He chooses not to acknowledge the heartbeat in the earth underfoot or the way the walls heave like lungs. Every so often he loses his footing, shying away from something in the dark that he senses but does not see, catching himself off-guard each time. Because when he peers into the shadows, he sees nothing. But the pulse quickens and there is a very real fear that tightens a fist around his windpipe as the two of them hurry deeper into the earth.
There is a period of time where he loses sight of her entirely. He is old now and, though he is immortal, he is not immune to the way exhaustion eats away at muscle. His sides heave wild with his gasping breath. And then she looms back into view again, always several steps ahead, cast in an eerie glow by the fungi on the walls. It is a strange place, certainly, but he has never traveled underground before and has no way of knowing that this is not simply the way the earth behaves beneath its surface. Beqanna is a land of magic, after all. And the voices he hears that do not belong to his daughter must belong to the spirits that make it so, he thinks. Or, at least, tries to convince himself.
He has no way of knowing how much time has passed until, finally, he reaches her. So focused on her is he that he does not immediately notice the reason for her stopping. Another great hole in the earth. This one filled with water. But not just any water. It has a current. A wild, raging thing. Rapids cut through the center of the cave coming from someplace unknown and disappearing into the darkness. The rush of the water is so loud that he cannot hear himself think. There is ice in the water, too. Great chunks of it. He thinks of the Tundra. His beloved Tundra. Wonders if this is where it’s ended up. Underground.
The pulse quickens even still. And, though he’s standing, he’s finding it even more difficult to breathe. He knows that it is not productive to panic but this seems an impossible thing to cross. “<B>I don’t know that we can make it, Kennice,</b>” he says. And it is not the water that scares him so much as the idea that he and his daughter might die down here, alone. He should have waken Plumeria, told him where he’d gone. It seems so silly now, as he turns his gaze on his daughter and woefully shakes his head.</div> <div class="jarris_name">jarris</div> <div class="jarris_quote">now I’ve been crazy, couldn’t you tell? I threw stones at the stars, but the whole sky fell</div> <img class="jarris_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/2y1t8pQH/jarris3.png"> </div> </center>