Bit of Writing & Madness
Jun. 17th, 2014 08:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breezeshadowFirst, what you all are more interested in: more of the Gareth story from yesterday.
The walk to the inn was awkwardly slow -- the wolf seemed to understand how walking on three legs worked, but his human brain kept interfering, rambling that this did not make sense, he was a human with two legs and two arms, so where was this nonsense about three legs coming from? By the third time he tripped and hit the street jaw-first, he stopped wishing he would become human, and hoped that he could stick with either one, as long as it was alone.
When the wolf took over walking, the rest of him would immediately return to a neverending panic of questions. Humans simply did not become wereanimals, or at least, it was not considered possible. History was full of instances were a werewolf bit a human, who was sick for days before becoming a were themselves. The frequency of the stories, along with their tendency to discourage curiosity, homosexuality, or heterosexuality, made even the most conservative historians admit that there was probably little truth in the tales.
Little, Gareth thought as he abruptly realized he had three legs and fell over. Apparently "little" was still plenty for him.
Andy kept close by his left side after that, keeping Gareth from falling completely over, though he could not stop the stumbling. Moments before, Gareth would have been bitter, but at that time he could not be more grateful. Every stagger was another chance opportunity for a desperate person to attack them, and Gareth did not want to chance another group ambush. And so he focused on trying to be a wolf -- a three-legged wolf, walking down the street with his lover, heading back to an inn after nearly being eaten--
He was fairly certain that even a half-dead wolf on opiates and hypnotics would not be able to imagine such a situation. It was not much easier getting a wolf-human brain to accept it.
Really, I just wanted to share that last paragraph. And also share that it took me at least a MINUTE to remember the word "ambush". I stared at WordPad thinking "There's a word for when a group surprise attacks you. I KNOW there is... But what is it?" I was just writing out a text to a friend to ask when it came to me. Thanks, brain.
Also I apologize for my writing being awful lately. I've been severely out of the habit, and Zoloft-brain is being pretty bad lately in creative writing.
And then, to explain the icon: Ever get that feeling like something is scratching at your brain and/or in your chest? Like a trapped squirrel who is really frantic to escape? Yeah. I got that feeling staring at a truck at a stop light on the way home today, and it doesn't really want to leave.
Now to continue this story and hope it gets a bit less like pulling teeth.
Tschuess.
The walk to the inn was awkwardly slow -- the wolf seemed to understand how walking on three legs worked, but his human brain kept interfering, rambling that this did not make sense, he was a human with two legs and two arms, so where was this nonsense about three legs coming from? By the third time he tripped and hit the street jaw-first, he stopped wishing he would become human, and hoped that he could stick with either one, as long as it was alone.
When the wolf took over walking, the rest of him would immediately return to a neverending panic of questions. Humans simply did not become wereanimals, or at least, it was not considered possible. History was full of instances were a werewolf bit a human, who was sick for days before becoming a were themselves. The frequency of the stories, along with their tendency to discourage curiosity, homosexuality, or heterosexuality, made even the most conservative historians admit that there was probably little truth in the tales.
Little, Gareth thought as he abruptly realized he had three legs and fell over. Apparently "little" was still plenty for him.
Andy kept close by his left side after that, keeping Gareth from falling completely over, though he could not stop the stumbling. Moments before, Gareth would have been bitter, but at that time he could not be more grateful. Every stagger was another chance opportunity for a desperate person to attack them, and Gareth did not want to chance another group ambush. And so he focused on trying to be a wolf -- a three-legged wolf, walking down the street with his lover, heading back to an inn after nearly being eaten--
He was fairly certain that even a half-dead wolf on opiates and hypnotics would not be able to imagine such a situation. It was not much easier getting a wolf-human brain to accept it.
Really, I just wanted to share that last paragraph. And also share that it took me at least a MINUTE to remember the word "ambush". I stared at WordPad thinking "There's a word for when a group surprise attacks you. I KNOW there is... But what is it?" I was just writing out a text to a friend to ask when it came to me. Thanks, brain.
Also I apologize for my writing being awful lately. I've been severely out of the habit, and Zoloft-brain is being pretty bad lately in creative writing.
And then, to explain the icon: Ever get that feeling like something is scratching at your brain and/or in your chest? Like a trapped squirrel who is really frantic to escape? Yeah. I got that feeling staring at a truck at a stop light on the way home today, and it doesn't really want to leave.
Now to continue this story and hope it gets a bit less like pulling teeth.
Tschuess.
