The Bird and The Worm
Title:The Bird and the Worm
Fandom: None, really
Rating: PG for freaky?
Notes: the marvelous Sam of creative writing club gave a prompt--write something based on a song. (listen to it if you haven't already. Bird and the Worm, by The Used.)
He wasn't sure of anything anymore. Not how long he had been out in the middle of nowhere with no hint of human company, not who he was, where he was from, or where he was going. He carried a backpack-the cargo was very important, this he did know. Its weight pushed him on, comforted him, drove him mad. He had no idea what was in the pack, only that he was terrified of it. He often heard it whispering to him (all alone, all alone...) or about him (out of his mind...must have been out of his mind...).
Days were spent crawling through the wastelands, clambering over rocks and petrified logs, clutching the backpack to his chest. At night, he curled up on some soft bit of ground, sleeping fitfully with many nightmares. All the time, terrified; so scared it almost hurt. He fled the backpack, even while his life felt safety-pinned to it. He couldn’t leave it behind without it ripping his heart out. Literally. If he was sure of anything, he was sure of this. So he struggled through the landscape in an attempt to save his life, crawling like a worm from a bird he wasn't sure even existed.
Fandom: None, really
Rating: PG for freaky?
Notes: the marvelous Sam of creative writing club gave a prompt--write something based on a song. (listen to it if you haven't already. Bird and the Worm, by The Used.)
He wasn't sure of anything anymore. Not how long he had been out in the middle of nowhere with no hint of human company, not who he was, where he was from, or where he was going. He carried a backpack-the cargo was very important, this he did know. Its weight pushed him on, comforted him, drove him mad. He had no idea what was in the pack, only that he was terrified of it. He often heard it whispering to him (all alone, all alone...) or about him (out of his mind...must have been out of his mind...).
Days were spent crawling through the wastelands, clambering over rocks and petrified logs, clutching the backpack to his chest. At night, he curled up on some soft bit of ground, sleeping fitfully with many nightmares. All the time, terrified; so scared it almost hurt. He fled the backpack, even while his life felt safety-pinned to it. He couldn’t leave it behind without it ripping his heart out. Literally. If he was sure of anything, he was sure of this. So he struggled through the landscape in an attempt to save his life, crawling like a worm from a bird he wasn't sure even existed.