Words apart together
#1 of Worlds Apart Together
Just a little something, dealing with some things and writing helps. This might give you more insight into me than i'd like. Hahaha.
He cringed, ears flattening on his head. The scream had ripped from nowhere and blasted through the trees, flocks of birds erupting from their branches. The scream had been full of raw emotion, the echoing taste of longing and pain mixing with a light touch of hope. He pushed his nose into the air and sniffed the scent of it, the psychic smell of it like dark bitter chocolate.
Again! Ugh, why, why, why, why, why, why!!!! The thought spun through his mind like a throwing star, scything through all other thoughts and tearing them to shreds. Stop!!! He shouted into his own head. Sometimes he thought he was crazy. He thought, a lot, but he thought about what he thought and how he thought and even why he was thinking what he was thinking. It was like a bunch of clamouring voices in his head having a constant argument sometimes. Thankfully not always and he knew the thoughts were his own, at least he didn't hear voices. He stared up past the lone tall tree in the middle of the yard, a type of palm. The sky was a bright blue with fluffy clouds, if you didn't know you were looking at the real thing you would have sworn it was a painting. The emotions broke over him again, battering at him like a furious sea trying to gouge out the cliffs on which his walls were stood strong and tall.
He took another deep breath, felt the energy of his body, felt the flow of it around him. He channelled the ocean of hurt and pain again, felt the heaviness of it gathering in his upturned palms and filling his lungs. His mouth opened, but he held back, pushing more of the hurt and pain and lost hopes and dreams into the open space of his hands and lungs until it almost felt physical. Then he yelled.
No birds moved, no sound came.
It was silent, but he felt the stored up emotion leaving him, felt it being flung out into the air. Every word, cry, thought and emotion he could never seem to express correctly to anyone he let out in that silent scream. He screamed at the world that had hurt him, screamed about his heart ripped again. He stopped and breathed, dropping his head and hands. For a moment he felt like he wasn't him, it always came here in the short space of peace. A feeling like his physical body wasn't the real one, like the shape was wrong. He revelled in it because for that sweet moment he felt strong. Oh, he knew it was just imagination. A story he told himself so he could feel stronger, a story so he could find the power to keep going and keep hope alive. He knew this shape well, he'd imagined it often enough and called on it when he felt the need. Sometimes though it would just jump on him as if it was the one pulling him, a shake of the hand and it'd feel like it was bigger and clawed. A toss of the head and it would feel like he had a muzzle and teeth. Sometimes when he was in the right space he'd sniff as he'd walk past people, pulling in their energy as he imagined it. It was strange, but at times when he did so he would suddenly think that he knew something about that person. They were all strangers though and he really would be crazy if he walked up to someone and asked them if his thought about them was right. Ha! Now that'd be proper crazy! He thought to himself.
It was hard when you were the strong one. Everyone relied upon you, turned to you when they needed comforting words or advice or just a shoulder for a moment. He was all those things and he was good at it... and he hated it. Sick of carrying the world on his shoulders and helping, always helping. He couldn't stop though, it was who he was. He 'saved' people. It was like a natural instinct overtook him whenever a person with hurt came within reach and other people seemed to know this. Complete strangers would talk to him for a short time and then open up and tell him things. He'd listen, he'd help, even if it was just a few encouraging words. The problem was no one could see the pain in him. He'd kept it hidden so long and so well that sometimes even he could trick himself into thinking he didn't have any.
He shook himself from his reverie. Tugged at his brightly coloured shorts, looked at his feet and sighed. He turned around and looked at the reflection in the large window. His hair was a dirty brown, curled in almost every direction and was near impossible to manage. He really did need to get it cut sometime soon. He wasn't fit, beer bellied but working on it. He could see he was starting to make progress. His arms were still the same though, no muscle, but not fat... just arms. At least you have good legs one of his thought's 'thought' at him. Oh great, now I'm cheering myself up. He smirked to his reflection and gave a deprecating little laugh. He pushed open the glass door and walked to his room, pulled out a white filter and popped it between his lips, snagged some rolling paper and stuffed tobacco in it. Might as well have a smoke.
The scream ripped through the air again, it seemed twice as loud in the quiet aftermath of the one before it. He sniffed deeply, the psychic trace strong and thick. It'd fade quickly. Dropping to all fours he felt the shift in his head and his body soon followed the thought. His long white furred fingers pulled into smaller paws, his back legs shrunk and shifted whilst his spine followed suit and reset itself more comfortably. Nose to the wind he sped off, tail counterbalancing him as he flew over the ground past tree's and startled animals. He remembered the scent of this, long, long ago he'd heard and smelt this pain before, back then he'd thought nothing of it. Now it bothered him and he felt urgency. He wasn't thinking, but the feelings pulled at him so strongly that he couldn't have had a thought if he'd tried and so he raced, tree's whipping past. He ran fast and far, lungs burning the scent fading quicker and quicker. Finally he found its source, he sniffed around the clearing. There was nothing there to be seen though. No indication of what had been here and shouted with such raw emotional power. He prowled around the clearing looking for any clues, anything out of place and found nothing. Some animal tracks, normal forest smells, nothing out of place except for a light bitter chocolate smell just on the edge of awareness. He felt the tug on him, it came at times. Felt like he was wrongly shaped, sometimes strange thoughts would flit across his mind. That was the strange thing, it's what made him strange and made him stand apart from the pack. He would think about strange things and question why. None of the pack did so, what is, is. To them there was no why.