Re: <font face="arial" color="gainsboro" size="1">come on, try a little. nothing is forever. -- Classes

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Date Posted: 21:34:01 05/11/02 Sat
Author: Joaquin Riddle
Subject: Re: come on, try a little. nothing is forever.
In reply to: Julian Emberson 's message, "come on, try a little. nothing is forever." on 00:16:16 05/11/02 Sat

Droplets of shower water fell through his lashes and into his eyes, finger reflexively reaching up to brush the liquid away. With a sour smirk he turned and made for the closet, wondering where the hell he kept the triptychs ____ gave to him the previous day. As the closet opened magically, Joaquin rubbed at his eye again and smelled his finger. "Thanks a fucking lot, Julian, now my eye smells like Vidal Sassoon. Go ahead and take the revision and give me the rest when you're finished..." He trailed off, picking between spaces and peeking under things. He became a bit cross, taking things out with furious attempt. "Where the hell did I put those triptychs?"

He turned back in annoyance to search the cabinet opposite of him in time to see Julian choke pathetically on one of his cigarettes. His lips curled like a mocking snake, eyes rolling. "Health freaks don't make good smokers, Pandora," He commented wryly. "Especially not this one. You should be glad these are cheap." He shook his head and crawled over the desks to get to the other side, again flipping open the doors with magic. He smiled brilliantly as he dove in the bottom shelf and began to dig. "Eureka!"

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> I think I've got an incurable neon disease -- Pandora Fallon, 23:17:59 05/11/02 Sat

If possible, her cantankerous mood had worsened astronomically since she had been constricted into speech; an unreasonable feeling of being delimited and incarcerated dousing her, putting a damper on any prospect of remote uplifting of her always gloomy mind. She seemed comatose, as she frequently did, merely staring off vacantly into more dismal emptiness in a sort of dazed stupor, utterly absorbed by her relentlessly infiltrating thoughts and ambitions that seemed to reign supreme in her autocratic life. It was elaborately labyrinthine and obsfucate, what she deemed and what she christened her creeds; esoteric, by all means. The lissom trunk of her body twined as she absently dropped her bag upon the stone mosiac floor, the colorful curses her teacher ennunicated barely registering in her sapient brain. "Mmm." By this point, plausibility of retrieving her from her wayward, abrupt downward spiral were bleak but they were far from impossible.

Lethargic, the prodigy slowly rose from her seeming hibernation and began to religiously expedite completing the charcoal sketch of the cemetary of lost souls she had been meditatively working on until interrupted by the oh so holy arrival of the resident parasite. The spirit was strong but the flesh was weak, and in the end, this was, ultimately the death of everything. Nothing lasted forever; nothing had the capacity to endure eternity. With rather violent strokes of the swarthily ledded pencil, a demented grin creeped along her peach colored lips. Lack of sanity, would you say? Maybe, but for the most part, she was of sound mind. Her richly hued, umber tresses slipped from behind ears and drifted across her bronze toned visage, titillating the surface of her graveyard scene. Inflamed with deeply repungant detestment that blinded her in this state of mind, she took her balking frustrations out upon her terrifying image, and then began gradually becoming tranquil again, until the point where her breathing had evened. Some would call her strange, and strange was an apropos word for her.

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