Post by Percival on May 16, 2013 8:09:06 GMT -5
(This is going to be a relatively short scene set in Perry's head. He'll be flashing back to formative events in his life, during his time as a child soldier. If anyone wants to interject with any NPC activity or wierdness feel free. It is a dream, it doesn't have to make total sense)
Behind closed eyelids worlds can be made. Worlds not usually of our choosing but most definitely created by us. Worlds that can reflect who and what we are, that can enthrall, entertain or terrify.
Perry was sinking into such a world this night. It was built from memories freshly unearthed due to recent experiences on a job. It was suffused with refreshed waves of old emotions. But as things usually do it started vaguely.
He was warm, too warm, wrapped in familiar arms. She smelled so nice. Like cinammon and vanilla. He buried his cheek against the arm, even as it trembled, or perhaps it was he that was shaking. There were noises outside, muffled shouts and sharp ringing steel. It was so hot here. He hated the heat, and it was even worse in the embrace. Mother. It was his mother who was holding him.
He blinked, looking up at her face. She seemed huge, unstoppable. He loved her so much. Father too. He'd complained he had to leave his friends behind, but Father had said that he'd make new friends. He'd complained that the sandy place was too hot. But Father had promised he'd get used to it. Father, as it turned out, had been right.
A sudden yank, a spinning sensation, everything was whirling black and orange. Which way was up? He could only smell smoke now. Where was his Mother? He wailed "Mama! Mamaaaa!" and heard muffled reply, high and sweet and full of terror. And then her face came to him and he reached for it. His arm seem to stretch. He could reach her! This time he would reach her! But she sank back into the whirling black and orange, and his hand chased her, lengthening and lengthening.
Then another jerk and his arm dissolved, blowing away like sand, and all was blackness again.
Behind closed eyelids worlds can be made. Worlds not usually of our choosing but most definitely created by us. Worlds that can reflect who and what we are, that can enthrall, entertain or terrify.
Perry was sinking into such a world this night. It was built from memories freshly unearthed due to recent experiences on a job. It was suffused with refreshed waves of old emotions. But as things usually do it started vaguely.
He was warm, too warm, wrapped in familiar arms. She smelled so nice. Like cinammon and vanilla. He buried his cheek against the arm, even as it trembled, or perhaps it was he that was shaking. There were noises outside, muffled shouts and sharp ringing steel. It was so hot here. He hated the heat, and it was even worse in the embrace. Mother. It was his mother who was holding him.
He blinked, looking up at her face. She seemed huge, unstoppable. He loved her so much. Father too. He'd complained he had to leave his friends behind, but Father had said that he'd make new friends. He'd complained that the sandy place was too hot. But Father had promised he'd get used to it. Father, as it turned out, had been right.
A sudden yank, a spinning sensation, everything was whirling black and orange. Which way was up? He could only smell smoke now. Where was his Mother? He wailed "Mama! Mamaaaa!" and heard muffled reply, high and sweet and full of terror. And then her face came to him and he reached for it. His arm seem to stretch. He could reach her! This time he would reach her! But she sank back into the whirling black and orange, and his hand chased her, lengthening and lengthening.
Then another jerk and his arm dissolved, blowing away like sand, and all was blackness again.