Post by Arrow on Jul 19, 2018 19:24:00 GMT -8
Ollivander Russels
Fall was always the worst. I remember that because our blood would match the riveting reds wrapped around the autumn time trees. I remember that because we would go back to school with hoods hiding our fist whipped faces. Teachers would tear into us for respect, but out of Fatherly fear denial drenched our phrases in response. Detention rates were high before the bruises and blemishes faded but were never forgotten. I suppose that's one good outcome from our names being picked despite our assurances for safety. This fall our Father's fists will have nothing but walls to slam dangerously into.
I don't enjoy the cacophonous chaos created by the cluttered center. The scent of sweat singes the air polluting it with nauseating poison. From day one in this prison I've opted for being as far away from the fear driven pack as possible. I consider it lucky that I found the loose vent, certainly Sentinels would painfully punish me if they knew where I have been slipping off to. After several minutes of crawling the thin metal corridors of the air conditioning open up into a large central area before narrowing again in numerous directions. Here beneath the slow spinning of a large fan over head do I spend the days training with a cigarette living happily between my lips.
Today something strikes me as unusual. While the seductive smoke entrances my body to its pull sounds from the way I came begin growing louder. An occasional noise is nothing out of the usual, Runners walking past or Sentinels switching shifts. But these are consistent and creeping closer with every new sound. My chest tightens but the smoke of my cigarette does not die. If they are finally going to catch me I'm sure as hell going to enjoy the final fading seconds of my own delight since being delivered here for my death.
I don't enjoy the cacophonous chaos created by the cluttered center. The scent of sweat singes the air polluting it with nauseating poison. From day one in this prison I've opted for being as far away from the fear driven pack as possible. I consider it lucky that I found the loose vent, certainly Sentinels would painfully punish me if they knew where I have been slipping off to. After several minutes of crawling the thin metal corridors of the air conditioning open up into a large central area before narrowing again in numerous directions. Here beneath the slow spinning of a large fan over head do I spend the days training with a cigarette living happily between my lips.
Today something strikes me as unusual. While the seductive smoke entrances my body to its pull sounds from the way I came begin growing louder. An occasional noise is nothing out of the usual, Runners walking past or Sentinels switching shifts. But these are consistent and creeping closer with every new sound. My chest tightens but the smoke of my cigarette does not die. If they are finally going to catch me I'm sure as hell going to enjoy the final fading seconds of my own delight since being delivered here for my death.
