Post by ⊕ Owen Pearson on May 21, 2009 2:02:11 GMT
All stories include their better points, but this is not a story, and this certainly was not a better point. In the middle of the cold night of another uneventful day, the following events occurred in the clouded mind, unaffected but aware of its surroundings.
A man lay outside in the cool night air, feeling no change in temperature from the surroundings. The grass beneath his back was the mattress; it also gave him his leafy pillow. His legs lay limp, as do his arms upon the dark ground. The only visible movement came from his chest as it moved in and out almost meditatively as if the man was a Buddhist monk. His eyes started blankly into the distance two empty pits inside their sockets, seeing but confused by the visions. Behind those a mind worked to create pictures to dance in front of his face.
Owen only saw the face of a mysterious woman whispering sweet nothings to him. The woman had long black flowing hair that flew behind her due to an inexistent breeze that pushed the thick stands into the air covering up stars behind her and then falling back again. The strands gave a large contrast to the billowing white dress that she wore. It was ripped on the fringes giving her a ghastly but very peaceful look to her. The warm gaze of the grayed eyes stared into Owen’s as she told her sweet stories that whispered around his ears enticing them and soothing them like sweet, sweet music played brilliantly in a wonderful concert hall.
The story was grand as it was told through the night’s chill air, providing a warm breeze of sweet thoughts. A story of the good of the world that fleets from us all, leaving us in our pits of hate, depression, and death. It did not touch on terrible emotions and circumstances but instead focused on a love story of perfect circumstances.
The hills of the story also began to appear creating the perfect world inside of the mind, a world without a war raging in the background, a far, far away place that would appeal to anyone. Love was all that mattered in the story. It was the most brilliant story Owen had ever heard and it continued to entice his mind in the nature.
The story had reached it’s end, but the beautiful woman continued to whisper her sweet nothings into Owen’s cold, cold ears as the perfect world left his vision, replaced by the cold night air in the spring environment. The blossoms of the trees were out, exposed to the air providing splashes of color against the dark night. The only lights that brightened up the environment were the full, bright moon that shown its face through the thick branches and the warm glow of the barracks light next to the door that Owen had come out of hours ago.
This was not the first occurrence of these midnight meetings; they had been going on for many months before now. Beginning in the early winter, Owen would sneak out from the Barracks unnoticed by the men and lie or sit on the ground and converse with the stunning woman who enticed him so. Even in the middle of the winter, he would come out not noticing any of the coldest temperatures and being unaffected by their wrath. Hours would pass whether in conversation or in storytelling or just more sweet nothings to charm the ears.
His body laid limply in the shade of a large blossoming oak tree on the edge of the clearing for the established grounds of the military base that brought his mind further to this point. In a medical sense, he knew to be weary of the hallucinations that came nightly upon his life, but instead of getting any help for these, he continued the experiences. He appreciated the full escape from his terrible, terrible life to a place where only he and this woman existed, two hearts in the night.
The body lay on the ground just out of the span of the light by the door. The moonlight shadowed the branches causing their venation to spread across his face, only slightly lighting up the pale flesh of his face and the fabric of his clothes resting loosely against his body. The only movements were that of breath and slight midnight breezes.
A man lay outside in the cool night air, feeling no change in temperature from the surroundings. The grass beneath his back was the mattress; it also gave him his leafy pillow. His legs lay limp, as do his arms upon the dark ground. The only visible movement came from his chest as it moved in and out almost meditatively as if the man was a Buddhist monk. His eyes started blankly into the distance two empty pits inside their sockets, seeing but confused by the visions. Behind those a mind worked to create pictures to dance in front of his face.
Owen only saw the face of a mysterious woman whispering sweet nothings to him. The woman had long black flowing hair that flew behind her due to an inexistent breeze that pushed the thick stands into the air covering up stars behind her and then falling back again. The strands gave a large contrast to the billowing white dress that she wore. It was ripped on the fringes giving her a ghastly but very peaceful look to her. The warm gaze of the grayed eyes stared into Owen’s as she told her sweet stories that whispered around his ears enticing them and soothing them like sweet, sweet music played brilliantly in a wonderful concert hall.
The story was grand as it was told through the night’s chill air, providing a warm breeze of sweet thoughts. A story of the good of the world that fleets from us all, leaving us in our pits of hate, depression, and death. It did not touch on terrible emotions and circumstances but instead focused on a love story of perfect circumstances.
The hills of the story also began to appear creating the perfect world inside of the mind, a world without a war raging in the background, a far, far away place that would appeal to anyone. Love was all that mattered in the story. It was the most brilliant story Owen had ever heard and it continued to entice his mind in the nature.
The story had reached it’s end, but the beautiful woman continued to whisper her sweet nothings into Owen’s cold, cold ears as the perfect world left his vision, replaced by the cold night air in the spring environment. The blossoms of the trees were out, exposed to the air providing splashes of color against the dark night. The only lights that brightened up the environment were the full, bright moon that shown its face through the thick branches and the warm glow of the barracks light next to the door that Owen had come out of hours ago.
This was not the first occurrence of these midnight meetings; they had been going on for many months before now. Beginning in the early winter, Owen would sneak out from the Barracks unnoticed by the men and lie or sit on the ground and converse with the stunning woman who enticed him so. Even in the middle of the winter, he would come out not noticing any of the coldest temperatures and being unaffected by their wrath. Hours would pass whether in conversation or in storytelling or just more sweet nothings to charm the ears.
His body laid limply in the shade of a large blossoming oak tree on the edge of the clearing for the established grounds of the military base that brought his mind further to this point. In a medical sense, he knew to be weary of the hallucinations that came nightly upon his life, but instead of getting any help for these, he continued the experiences. He appreciated the full escape from his terrible, terrible life to a place where only he and this woman existed, two hearts in the night.
The body lay on the ground just out of the span of the light by the door. The moonlight shadowed the branches causing their venation to spread across his face, only slightly lighting up the pale flesh of his face and the fabric of his clothes resting loosely against his body. The only movements were that of breath and slight midnight breezes.
