- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Genres
- Sci-Fi, Romance, Modern -- I'm more interested in a gripping, detailed story than adhering to conventions.
"It makes me feel like I never was, ... like I wouldn't be missed if I didn't exist."
A stillness crept over Frank as he sat with Liza upon the great, granite outcropping. His eyes darted to catch sight of their avian neighbors as they winged their way between the oak and hickory tree trunks with fluid grace. When the birds kept to their hidden perches, the scene reverted to a condition of perfect, yet resolute stillness. Leaves shifted and branches swayed in the light breeze that forced all denizens along a continuum of self-reflection. Nature could grip a person with such intensity, yet reveal nothing but instead surrender its measure—the emptiness of life itself, a nihilism of operational meaning toward those things deemed unnecessary and exigent. Perhaps that was what Nature did ... it opened the mind and soul to the existential void that surrounded everyone, and became a grand mirror to the Self.
Was that was Mr. Hendrickson witnessed here?
Frank struggled to connect the dots that danced about his peripheral vision like a constellation of conceptual barriers. What made a simple man like Mr. Hendrickson, someone who epitomized the comfort and prestige of the average citizenry, break from the very foundation of, not only society, but his own sanity. He was insane, wasn't he? Why else would he commit suicide? TELEstream pushes those lies like a hungry whore. Then what's the answer? They're whirling about you.
The birds.
Frank watched them look, flit, and scamper there and about along tree branches and the verdant spurge on the ground. There must have been many dozens of birds casting about, chirping their songs in a flurry of sharp tweets and mellow warbles. Their behavior was wild, but fancy-free; they needed no encouragement for a more efficient manner of being themselves. Frank pondered that fact for some moments before considering a cluster of stray twigs, woolen stuffing, and drinking straws in a high set branch. It was a bird's nest, and owing to the time of year, likely abandoned. As a boy, Frank remembered reading about the life-cycle of young birds; it was one of the reasons TELEstream selected him to pursue Mr. Hendrickson, given the quarry's predilection for birds. Liza's voice, soft and concerned in suggestion, interrupted his recollections. He turned to face her.
"Yes, Dear. We should be leaving. TELEstream will send agents in pursuit of us before long ... we should lose ourselves in the Dim Quarter and search for your parents." The rock face felt surprisingly smooth as Frank slid down and stood next to Liza. His eyes painted the distant nest with his own brand of intense scrutiny once more before leading Liza from the woods back to the car.
A stillness crept over Frank as he sat with Liza upon the great, granite outcropping. His eyes darted to catch sight of their avian neighbors as they winged their way between the oak and hickory tree trunks with fluid grace. When the birds kept to their hidden perches, the scene reverted to a condition of perfect, yet resolute stillness. Leaves shifted and branches swayed in the light breeze that forced all denizens along a continuum of self-reflection. Nature could grip a person with such intensity, yet reveal nothing but instead surrender its measure—the emptiness of life itself, a nihilism of operational meaning toward those things deemed unnecessary and exigent. Perhaps that was what Nature did ... it opened the mind and soul to the existential void that surrounded everyone, and became a grand mirror to the Self.
Was that was Mr. Hendrickson witnessed here?
Frank struggled to connect the dots that danced about his peripheral vision like a constellation of conceptual barriers. What made a simple man like Mr. Hendrickson, someone who epitomized the comfort and prestige of the average citizenry, break from the very foundation of, not only society, but his own sanity. He was insane, wasn't he? Why else would he commit suicide? TELEstream pushes those lies like a hungry whore. Then what's the answer? They're whirling about you.
The birds.
Frank watched them look, flit, and scamper there and about along tree branches and the verdant spurge on the ground. There must have been many dozens of birds casting about, chirping their songs in a flurry of sharp tweets and mellow warbles. Their behavior was wild, but fancy-free; they needed no encouragement for a more efficient manner of being themselves. Frank pondered that fact for some moments before considering a cluster of stray twigs, woolen stuffing, and drinking straws in a high set branch. It was a bird's nest, and owing to the time of year, likely abandoned. As a boy, Frank remembered reading about the life-cycle of young birds; it was one of the reasons TELEstream selected him to pursue Mr. Hendrickson, given the quarry's predilection for birds. Liza's voice, soft and concerned in suggestion, interrupted his recollections. He turned to face her.
"Yes, Dear. We should be leaving. TELEstream will send agents in pursuit of us before long ... we should lose ourselves in the Dim Quarter and search for your parents." The rock face felt surprisingly smooth as Frank slid down and stood next to Liza. His eyes painted the distant nest with his own brand of intense scrutiny once more before leading Liza from the woods back to the car.