Post by nEwOL握敵 on Nov 10, 2013 20:06:35 GMT -5
Serpentine - Disturbed
The day's light was fading. As was the fashion, I'd removed myself from the pack as the day was drawing to a close. That camp didn't suit me will. Especially at night, when all the demons liked to dance around in my head. I didn't like it there. Even in this pack, there where a few traces of happiness, content. All the things that I didn't set comfortably with. Stitch had recovered from the death of everything we'd ever known, everything we'd ever been created for. The death of the other two Folami from our experiment and the destruction of our small group and being dropped into The Pit to become normal Folami. I'd bit my tongue just to escape the humans' compound. But they hadn't managed to fix anything in me in The Pit.
Even among Normal Folami, I didn't belong. The level of difference in me was as plan as my appearance. I was an unholy demon from hell. I was a monster. I had no sanctuary. The only salvation I could put faith in was to one day be encompassed in the embrace of the fires of Hell. Sister had survived the chaos. She'd learned and adapted and become stronger. I'd simply allowed the world to twist me into something horrible. And so I would not allow my head to lay at rest near anyone that actually stood some chance at eventual happiness.
This canyon's shadows where my home. I sat in the mouth of a cave near the top of the canyon, accessible by a small side path across the canyon's wall. My tail sat on top of my grey paws, wrapped around my good side, leaving exposed my mummified hind leg. The age old tattered bandages didn't conceal the massive burn scar down that leg completely. Parts of it still showed at the joints in my leg. The white markings on my face stood as a contrast to my black fur, which almost glowed in the fading light, two bright yellow orbs of confused anger and malice. Under better circumstances, I might have been handsome. But it was too late for that. I wasn't handsome. I was evil.
But at least I could take comfort in one truth. I wasn't the only hound alive here that had a no chance at salvation but the Depths of Hell. No. I wasn't the only sinner here. Stitch had told me the tails once of how it all came to be. The perfect alpha had been taking away for his flaws and then her fearless woman had lost the thrown to a popular vote. So Stitch had fled to the wilderness and learned at the hand of Mother nature and alongside the wolves. She'd been a marry and happy Misfit. Then the pack split down the middle and the blood flowed. There was so much black and red liquid swirling around the ankles of our kind. There was no perfect innocence within the founders of our race. It was our birth right. This thought always brought the seething anger out of me. Brought it to the forefront of my mind and let the other side take over. I hated the humans, and I hated our first generation. I Hated them with all the fires of hell. The humans where basturds for making weapons that lived and breathed, and expecting them not to feel anything. And my founders where basturds for TRYING to fit that mold. It was within the nature of my design. I'd been created to exist in a family, that was the nature of the experiment that Stitch and I had been made for. It tore at the inside of me. Without that experiment I was nothing but the voice of the history of my kind. And that history was dark and stained and foul. And some where more guilty then others. But ultimately, no one who was there at the beginning was clean.
The day's light was fading. As was the fashion, I'd removed myself from the pack as the day was drawing to a close. That camp didn't suit me will. Especially at night, when all the demons liked to dance around in my head. I didn't like it there. Even in this pack, there where a few traces of happiness, content. All the things that I didn't set comfortably with. Stitch had recovered from the death of everything we'd ever known, everything we'd ever been created for. The death of the other two Folami from our experiment and the destruction of our small group and being dropped into The Pit to become normal Folami. I'd bit my tongue just to escape the humans' compound. But they hadn't managed to fix anything in me in The Pit.
Even among Normal Folami, I didn't belong. The level of difference in me was as plan as my appearance. I was an unholy demon from hell. I was a monster. I had no sanctuary. The only salvation I could put faith in was to one day be encompassed in the embrace of the fires of Hell. Sister had survived the chaos. She'd learned and adapted and become stronger. I'd simply allowed the world to twist me into something horrible. And so I would not allow my head to lay at rest near anyone that actually stood some chance at eventual happiness.
This canyon's shadows where my home. I sat in the mouth of a cave near the top of the canyon, accessible by a small side path across the canyon's wall. My tail sat on top of my grey paws, wrapped around my good side, leaving exposed my mummified hind leg. The age old tattered bandages didn't conceal the massive burn scar down that leg completely. Parts of it still showed at the joints in my leg. The white markings on my face stood as a contrast to my black fur, which almost glowed in the fading light, two bright yellow orbs of confused anger and malice. Under better circumstances, I might have been handsome. But it was too late for that. I wasn't handsome. I was evil.
But at least I could take comfort in one truth. I wasn't the only hound alive here that had a no chance at salvation but the Depths of Hell. No. I wasn't the only sinner here. Stitch had told me the tails once of how it all came to be. The perfect alpha had been taking away for his flaws and then her fearless woman had lost the thrown to a popular vote. So Stitch had fled to the wilderness and learned at the hand of Mother nature and alongside the wolves. She'd been a marry and happy Misfit. Then the pack split down the middle and the blood flowed. There was so much black and red liquid swirling around the ankles of our kind. There was no perfect innocence within the founders of our race. It was our birth right. This thought always brought the seething anger out of me. Brought it to the forefront of my mind and let the other side take over. I hated the humans, and I hated our first generation. I Hated them with all the fires of hell. The humans where basturds for making weapons that lived and breathed, and expecting them not to feel anything. And my founders where basturds for TRYING to fit that mold. It was within the nature of my design. I'd been created to exist in a family, that was the nature of the experiment that Stitch and I had been made for. It tore at the inside of me. Without that experiment I was nothing but the voice of the history of my kind. And that history was dark and stained and foul. And some where more guilty then others. But ultimately, no one who was there at the beginning was clean.
