Leave me to my own devices -- Library

[ Show ]

Support VoyForums

[ Shrink ]

VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

[ Login ] [ Contact Forum Admin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time ]

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 21:29:56 06/01/02 Sat
Author: Pandora Fallon
Subject: Leave me to my own devices

The vimless wretch resided in a stygian corner, deprived of the faintest glimmer of celestial illumination with the vague exception of the wand levitated above her chocolate brown covered head, streaming dim light onto the pages of the book her mind's voracious appetite for omniscience consumed esuriently. However docile she appeared in her quiesence during the tacit after she had severed all bonds in purposeful detachment from society, when she was alone, which was almost always the case, she was quite viperous and abominable. Disturb any serenity, or the closest imitation of such that she could possibly conceive, and one would find they had genuinely perturbed her; poked at her with a stick and forced her out of her shell to the point where she was rather vicious from feeling defenseless out in the cold and clementless open, so to speak. Her shell was the disquiet, rapined and disordered metaphor for her intricate mind; where she dwelled withdrawn from the rest of the world in a strange, even bizzare, state of contentment. Regardless of being certified as one of the most meticulous and fastidiously natured people of the entire school, or the entire state of Oregon, really, her caprice didn't apply to the inward clutter that had drowned her because the rug couldn't burden anything else swept under it. Ergo, now, it engulfed her with a morose dementia of sorts, consuming her from the inside out and causing her to be dormant... waiting to erupt.

One would deem her stoic visage to have been carved from the most bijoux of precious, light bronze stones, what with the exquisite way her cheekbones were altitudiously set upon her healthily hued face; how they seemed to be flawlessly chiseled by the most practised of sculpter's hands. However, there was a certain impalpatable element that manipulated one's senses into discerning that despite the tanned, dark honey pigment of her skin, that she was not quite as healthy to the untrained, unkeen eye as her semblance at distance may have vindictively suggested. The vitriolic and acerbic girl, drained of all vigor and left to the vultures from fatigue, per se, bleakly peregrinated through the captivating pages; both enamored and amused by their very human content. However, she was also rather peevishly bothered that she hadn't, in her galling, vexing entirity, ever experienced such rapport for her fellow human's plight, nor the envy, the spite, the romantic, hackneyed love, the joy, nor did she have a feasible prospect for such rotten skulduggery in her extreme unplanglossian exsistance. Despite harboring no affinity for most secular individuals, she had experienced two major milestones: torturous, gloomy endlessness of melancholy depression and maladjustment and utter, chaotic confusion; flummoxed, cumbersome perplexity of such gargantuan magnitude that it pilaged her of her logic and knocked her over the brink of deranged insanity with, ironically enough, a dove's feather.

Without presentiment, the dainty hands aggressively slammed the book closed, aggrivated by Othello far too thoroughly to perpetuate her sapient appetite's engorgement on the Shakespearean classic. "You prick," she snarked sibilantly into the numbing, death like silence to no one specifically, although it was likely she was addressing the contumelious and wounded, not exsisting Othello. With immense languor, she stretched backward with a fitful, malaise stridor of effort, the titillated muscles beneath her tanned, velvety skin perceiving a peculiar tingling that was customary when one performed such a sign of lassitude and laziness. Inert for a few moments, the amethyst toned oculus bore vacuously in front of her in an almost comatose way, before she acrimoniously continued to snarl her embittered tirade to no one but herself, lacking her usual taciturn manner. "Pills. All of them. Pills." Inscrutable in her resolve to forever fulfill her self assigned role as satirical and excessively amoroidal of human err and farce, she eerily smiled in an edulcorated way to herself. It was strangely satisfying to talk, especially to herself. Perhaps she wasn't the most sound mind, but she did have her epochs of lucidity, and however bugbear and strange she was, her intelligence was frightening.

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Replies:

^For Once, I Agree With You^ -- Griffon Todd, 12:41:33 06/02/02 Sun
- Therefore, I disagree with you. -- Pandora Fallon, 19:28:34 06/05/02 Wed
  - ^Do You Give In To Yourself So Often?^ -- Griffon Todd, 19:04:29 06/07/02 Fri
    - .:: I've been crawling in the dark ::. -- Stormy Thurman, 06:44:11 06/10/02 Mon