Post by kristian andrej ivashkov on Mar 20, 2013 21:12:46 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i51.tinypic.com/2nbr3oi.jpg) ] Kristian Ivashkov sick of sight without a sense of feeling. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Kristian feels… alive. Sometimes he feels alive. Being alive is a funny thing when you’re so used to being so turned off, so dead, so done. The night is chilly, yet he stands on the corner of a well-lit street in a tank top. He can take the cold. A little cold never killed anyone. There’s a chilly, misty drizzle in the air too… it feels good. He can feel the beat of his heart in his chest, the fact that it’s pumping him full of blood—he’s alive. It’s all true. Everything he can think of is true… and maybe that’s okay. He feels okay once and for all. Woah. What a strange thought. Rarely is he both okay and alive. Usually one thing comes without the other. He simply stands on the corner of the street tonight and breathes. Sure, the penthouse apartment that his father’s company paid for wasn’t that far off. Sure, but it wasn’t home. Home was on the other side of the ocean, so it kept him away from the empty apartment. Night had come early, or maybe it was the clouds keeping the light from the sky. He couldn’t tell. With an offhanded glance at his watch, it registered to him—8:17. Even if he was to go back, no one would be there. It would be as empty as always. He was sick of empty. So he walked. The young man with the startling blue eyes tried to push everything from his mind for the time being. He didn’t want to think about his twin brother, the rebel without a cause that wanted everyone to know his name. A glory hound… it made his stomach hurt. He didn’t want that. He wanted his father and mother to both be home when he went racing up the stairs. That would never happen. They’d been divorced for years, and he knew that there wasn’t anything he could do to put the pieces back together. Hell, he was a senior in high school—why was he living in the past? Why did he let it keep such a hold on him? Kris didn’t know. In reality, the young man’s mind was vulnerable. He just wanted things to stay the way they were supposed to, but it didn’t matter. Instead, the creature just lit a cigarette and pondered as he walked. A mist was enough to keep many of these people indoors. There wasn’t any company as he stopped to rest on a bench. It was more to clear his mind further than anything else. Supposedly there was miles to go before he slept… he could believe that. It was rare that he really did rest any more, anyway. . |
