Jude
Without losing a piece of me
How do I get to heaven?
Jude can feel the waves of embarrassment. He is ready to retreat back into his shell, hide away where that blatant shift in pitch never happened. How is he to ever adapt to this new surrounding if he can’t even open his mouth like a normal person? Misery ebbs from him like a quiet tide, washing against shores of his mind and soaking through to his being. He fights back the tears, desperate to cling to what is left of his perceived dignity. In truth, he wants to stay, wants to fill the long hours he spends alone, wasting away with the passing hours of the daylight. Nothing fills his days anymore, not even the soft brush strokes on the page as they once had. Painting has lot it’s sheen and leaves a mere sense of dissatisfaction lingering in his chest. Nothing comes out the way he wants anymore.
For once, he doesn’t clamber away and flee. He lingers. The yellow mare offers a quiet welcome and the younger one resting only seems to take it all in.Now is the time to retreat his mind whispers. Run, run, run. They’re eyes are on you. Instead he inches closer and decides to lay himself down into the grass, eyes fixing on the ground with tendrils of pink falling like a veil over his gaze. If he can’t see them perhaps it will ease his loss of words.
“My na-name is Jude,” he says, his voice falling into soft pitches hardly above a whisper. Perhaps for once he won’t merely wilt at the very idea of conversation.
"a second option."
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
Without losing a piece of me
How do I get to heaven?
Jude can feel the waves of embarrassment. He is ready to retreat back into his shell, hide away where that blatant shift in pitch never happened. How is he to ever adapt to this new surrounding if he can’t even open his mouth like a normal person? Misery ebbs from him like a quiet tide, washing against shores of his mind and soaking through to his being. He fights back the tears, desperate to cling to what is left of his perceived dignity. In truth, he wants to stay, wants to fill the long hours he spends alone, wasting away with the passing hours of the daylight. Nothing fills his days anymore, not even the soft brush strokes on the page as they once had. Painting has lot it’s sheen and leaves a mere sense of dissatisfaction lingering in his chest. Nothing comes out the way he wants anymore.
For once, he doesn’t clamber away and flee. He lingers. The yellow mare offers a quiet welcome and the younger one resting only seems to take it all in.
“My na-name is Jude,” he says, his voice falling into soft pitches hardly above a whisper. Perhaps for once he won’t merely wilt at the very idea of conversation.
"a second option."
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
@Maude @
