rough musings.
I haven't been writing for a long, long time, both here and in general, so after voraciously reading the past couple weeks since I finished my first year of med school (whut? more on that later + a booklist and thoughts on what I read), I felt the impulse to write again. So, the next couple days, I'll post these snippets. The first is really a snapshot of a scene, and not really a purposeful story... but, I'm exploring my littel world here. :P
Yup, these are really in the rough, but anything is better than nothing. :)
Background note: It was really unbearably hot yesterday. It was absolutely hot today, too. We hit triple digits (around 38*C for my metric friends :p) and I was positively melting - so that rush of icy-hot anger was kinda a starting inspiration. I've just recently realized that my rhadamanthians are somewhat like zombies. Of course, they are more sophisticated than that! But, in the simplest terms: they are the revivals of windrills (another species that I'm still struggling to define). Not all windrills are 'revived' or can possibly come back after death. What makes these creatures unique is still a work in progress, but currently in my mind, they are an intimidating sight to behold. I guess this was a chance for me to address how strange it is to be in the presence of a rhadamanthian, who has returned from death with no agenda but its mysterious own.
Here goes!
To look upon a rhadamanthian's true nature is to gaze upon the star that is Sol, a beacon stripping away sight and leaving sanity a question to the winds. Even a the brush of a gaze, eye contact sustained a moment long, can drag one's soul to the yawning jaw of Death - a fate fulfilled too soon.
I demurely cast my eyes upon the tiled floor, dusted recently by my own hands and muttering back. I silenced my urge to bend backwards and relieve my aching spine, for until its attention left me, I could only remain interested in the floor. The intensity of its gaze was palpable; I felt it looking at me, drinking me in, a creature of quirks and life, a flame, a mortal, so fleeting in existence. The silken cowl it donned whispered like butterflies, as it weaved its skeletal head back and forth; its mannerisms were as alien as its body. I stood there a minute more, the heat from the window radiating inside, sallow wind barely fingering the long drapes. A bead of sweat trickled at my temples and an overwhelming feeling of anger at the absurd heat surged within me.
I risked a question. "Is there anything you request of me, my...lord?" What the hell could you call it?
Perhaps it would be one that speaks; perhaps not. I felt as if I were afire. My own eyes were glaring at the darkness engulfing its neck; it was the highest I dared to lift my eyes.
Satisfied or not, the rhadamanthian lost interest and turned away, silently drifting away. Despite its construction - a severe paucity of flesh and a startling abundance of bone - it was a master of the shadows, slipping away with barely a ripple in my consciousness.
Cheers!
-Lila
Yup, these are really in the rough, but anything is better than nothing. :)
Background note: It was really unbearably hot yesterday. It was absolutely hot today, too. We hit triple digits (around 38*C for my metric friends :p) and I was positively melting - so that rush of icy-hot anger was kinda a starting inspiration. I've just recently realized that my rhadamanthians are somewhat like zombies. Of course, they are more sophisticated than that! But, in the simplest terms: they are the revivals of windrills (another species that I'm still struggling to define). Not all windrills are 'revived' or can possibly come back after death. What makes these creatures unique is still a work in progress, but currently in my mind, they are an intimidating sight to behold. I guess this was a chance for me to address how strange it is to be in the presence of a rhadamanthian, who has returned from death with no agenda but its mysterious own.
Here goes!
To look upon a rhadamanthian's true nature is to gaze upon the star that is Sol, a beacon stripping away sight and leaving sanity a question to the winds. Even a the brush of a gaze, eye contact sustained a moment long, can drag one's soul to the yawning jaw of Death - a fate fulfilled too soon.
I demurely cast my eyes upon the tiled floor, dusted recently by my own hands and muttering back. I silenced my urge to bend backwards and relieve my aching spine, for until its attention left me, I could only remain interested in the floor. The intensity of its gaze was palpable; I felt it looking at me, drinking me in, a creature of quirks and life, a flame, a mortal, so fleeting in existence. The silken cowl it donned whispered like butterflies, as it weaved its skeletal head back and forth; its mannerisms were as alien as its body. I stood there a minute more, the heat from the window radiating inside, sallow wind barely fingering the long drapes. A bead of sweat trickled at my temples and an overwhelming feeling of anger at the absurd heat surged within me.
I risked a question. "Is there anything you request of me, my...lord?" What the hell could you call it?
Perhaps it would be one that speaks; perhaps not. I felt as if I were afire. My own eyes were glaring at the darkness engulfing its neck; it was the highest I dared to lift my eyes.
Satisfied or not, the rhadamanthian lost interest and turned away, silently drifting away. Despite its construction - a severe paucity of flesh and a startling abundance of bone - it was a master of the shadows, slipping away with barely a ripple in my consciousness.
Cheers!
-Lila