Post by Nameria on Feb 13, 2018 20:14:50 GMT
LOREM, IPSUM, DOLOR.
Harsh breaths were expelled from his nostrils as he ran as fast as his strong legs could carry him. Blood was dripping from fresh opened wounds, and tears threatened to emerge from his scarlet eyes. He was running away as fast as possible, away from the pure, seething, boiling anger he was feeling; his rage was bursting at the seams of his soul, and it turned him into a rampant machine about to strike down anything in his path. His vision was blurry, and his heartbeat was faster than the pounding of his hooves on the ground. He was a failure. The voice of the General echoed in his mind, and after the failed training session that morning, he could not control the frustration he felt. After lashing out at his general after his humiliation, he ran away as fast as he could, hoping to cool off his anger by destroying everything on his path.
Yet.
He didn't destroy anything, but himself. He applied pressure on his own wounds using his power to make himself feel the pain even more tangibly; hot tears formed in his eyes as he ran and ran. He did not take notice, for any passing moment, that he was now treading into the Strip. His body was automatic, as if he was not in control anymore of his own actions. He knew that it was a price to pay--he was a failure, after all. This was the reason of his existence... only suffering and conflict. His mother... oh, how much he despised her, yet loved her. He missed her terribly, yet despised her for what she had done. After piercing her chest, all what was left of him was Abbadon. He wanted to believed he cared for him, but a part of him knew he didn't truly care at all.
After all, he knew that he was probably using him for his own gain too.
He was stubborn, however, and the other part of him refused to believe otherwise. This was necessary. This was for the greater good. His legs eventually begged him to stop, and his body was aching from so much running, and he eventually had to obey. Panting, he trotted to a stop, observing the lake in front of him. He felt disoriented; his adrenaline rush had subsided, but not his anger. He huffed, walking quietly over the waters to have a drink. He wanted to be alone, and he was sure that he would not hesitate to bring down anyone who dared to stand on his way. The obsidian stallion drank the cold water to quench his thirst, still moving his ears in all directions, waiting to see if he could return back to the Dawnlands without leaving a trace.
----
459 words
Finn YEEEE
Harsh breaths were expelled from his nostrils as he ran as fast as his strong legs could carry him. Blood was dripping from fresh opened wounds, and tears threatened to emerge from his scarlet eyes. He was running away as fast as possible, away from the pure, seething, boiling anger he was feeling; his rage was bursting at the seams of his soul, and it turned him into a rampant machine about to strike down anything in his path. His vision was blurry, and his heartbeat was faster than the pounding of his hooves on the ground. He was a failure. The voice of the General echoed in his mind, and after the failed training session that morning, he could not control the frustration he felt. After lashing out at his general after his humiliation, he ran away as fast as he could, hoping to cool off his anger by destroying everything on his path.
Yet.
He didn't destroy anything, but himself. He applied pressure on his own wounds using his power to make himself feel the pain even more tangibly; hot tears formed in his eyes as he ran and ran. He did not take notice, for any passing moment, that he was now treading into the Strip. His body was automatic, as if he was not in control anymore of his own actions. He knew that it was a price to pay--he was a failure, after all. This was the reason of his existence... only suffering and conflict. His mother... oh, how much he despised her, yet loved her. He missed her terribly, yet despised her for what she had done. After piercing her chest, all what was left of him was Abbadon. He wanted to believed he cared for him, but a part of him knew he didn't truly care at all.
After all, he knew that he was probably using him for his own gain too.
He was stubborn, however, and the other part of him refused to believe otherwise. This was necessary. This was for the greater good. His legs eventually begged him to stop, and his body was aching from so much running, and he eventually had to obey. Panting, he trotted to a stop, observing the lake in front of him. He felt disoriented; his adrenaline rush had subsided, but not his anger. He huffed, walking quietly over the waters to have a drink. He wanted to be alone, and he was sure that he would not hesitate to bring down anyone who dared to stand on his way. The obsidian stallion drank the cold water to quench his thirst, still moving his ears in all directions, waiting to see if he could return back to the Dawnlands without leaving a trace.
----
459 words
Finn YEEEE
