| Subject: : heathen : |
Author:
Ziggy Stardust
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Date Posted: 22:19:29 08/24/02 Sat
*Night. It is the perfect time for an entrance if one wishes to be temporarily unnoticed, and it is indeed of this time when Ziggy makes his appearance. The moon is brilliantly ivory, glowing against the ebon canvas which seems to stretch for all eternity, broken only by the stars, faintly pulsing in the far distance. Cloaked in shadow, the bronze male halts far from the scraggly trees, which appear to yearn for a more peaceful habitat. His every movement stills, his breathing slows almost to the point that the rise and fall of his thin chest would go undetected by all but the most observant. He is a slender creature, his ribs can almost be seen through his dull hide. It is almost the gaunt quality of a drug addict, and one could say he suffers of that affliction - though the intoxicants he is accustomed to do not reach anything known to the human world. Simply nature's hallucinogens, if you could give him that much. His eyes, spacey as they are, are keen and if trained could pick up the slightest movements, even in the pitch darkness accompanying the stroke of twelve-midnight. And besides, his slight frame is an advantage in a battle, although it may not seem that way upon first thought; for isn't it valued, alongside brute strength, to be easy and light on one's feet? Yes, that is how Ziggy always looked at such matters. And although he had no training to speak of, it was easy to see that this stallion would be a natural, with his sharp wits and quick movements. So he stands, alone in the moonlight, the alabaster rays playing across his nondescript musculature. His head lowers, orbs narrowing slightly as he waits in the hushed and dusty clearing. Although the area's scent is not entirely displeasing, it reeks in one's memory, and for Ziggy it brings to mind images of bloodshed and grim death, which he has been familiarized with quite well in his past and which he will no doubt see again in his time. Far from him is it to break the silence, for that would somehow seem blasphemous and showing a blatant disregard for the unspoken rules of this battlefield. A heathen? Sure. A rebel? Indeed. A rockstar? Of course. But even rockstars have their code of honor, and this one in particular, though he was not at all majestic or particularly handsome to the eye, chooses to uphold this code. He will wait through the night, for as the stars recede into the morning's rich colors, and as the dawn approaches, so will a challenger*
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