(no subject)
A/N: I think third time's the charm, because this is my favorite snippet of "writing on the wall." yes, it has a title now. after the second installment, i figured something this good couldn't go without a name. i know this is good. i like to write. i like to read what i've written. and i don't like to read something that's not good. so without further ado, enjoy. and i'm sorry it's short. but it seemed appropriate to end there.
The writing on the wall beckons to him, enticing him, inviting him. He sees the words, comprehends their meanings, and it scares him near to death.
The writer, he assumes, was female, because the writing, round and bubbling, once started out with the i's dotted in hearts. Shortly after the starting point, it becomes scratched and scribbled, as though she was in a hurry to get her words out. However, it is not the pennmanship that makes his objective mind want to run away in terror. The presence he had felt upon entering the seemingly vacant room grows exponentially the closer he gets to the words.
He wants to break away from the stories, to tear his eyes away and never look back again, but he knows he can't. He drinks in the letters strategically placed to form sentences like a drug addict. He knows his time is short. Indescribable emotions build up inside him as he reads, and unconsciously, his soul longs for him to become one with the writing on the wall.
The writing on the wall beckons to him, enticing him, inviting him. He sees the words, comprehends their meanings, and it scares him near to death.
The writer, he assumes, was female, because the writing, round and bubbling, once started out with the i's dotted in hearts. Shortly after the starting point, it becomes scratched and scribbled, as though she was in a hurry to get her words out. However, it is not the pennmanship that makes his objective mind want to run away in terror. The presence he had felt upon entering the seemingly vacant room grows exponentially the closer he gets to the words.
He wants to break away from the stories, to tear his eyes away and never look back again, but he knows he can't. He drinks in the letters strategically placed to form sentences like a drug addict. He knows his time is short. Indescribable emotions build up inside him as he reads, and unconsciously, his soul longs for him to become one with the writing on the wall.