I think I've got an incurable neon disease -- Classes

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Date Posted: 23:17:59 05/11/02 Sat
Author: Pandora Fallon
Subject: I think I've got an incurable neon disease
In reply to: Joaquin Riddle 's message, "Re: come on, try a little. nothing is forever." on 21:34:01 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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