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More from ~supernova8041

Paint bucket and Two SpoonsWith a paint bucket
and two spoons
he placed himself on the side of the street
And played a rhythm.
A slow and steady one,
never faster, never slower,
like a human heart.

And he became blended
with the rest of the city,
to people
who passed him every day
without glancing once
in his direction.
His drum was a sound,
a puzzle piece,
that made up the picture
of that street.

But one day,
for some reason,
he didn't show up.
And the people
who walked by his post every day
without a second thought
stopped
and said to one another
that something was missing
in the picture of that street.
A puzzle piece was missing.
What cou
Underwater Gazing UpBroken, clamboring, mirrored surface.
Rippled and bubbled,
an everchanging mosaic recording all movements.
I forget that I am a creature of land and air.
I lay and stare at sky-bound oceans up above
through a glass of infinite potentials.
I lift a hand and all senses are thrown into confusion
as fingers break from the rippling surface to shatter into air,
and suddenly I remember what weight feels like.
Jewels of half light, half water
fly for a brief second
as my face follows, bursting into cold wind.
Like emerging from bed,
from a dream,
from make-believe.
PMOCT- Sorrel Char Ref SheetBasic Info
Name: Sorrel
Collected by: Hestia
Species: Homo sapiens
Gender: Female
Age: 36
Height: 5' 1
Weight: 125 lbs
Eye Color: Dark brown
Hair Color: Black

History
Sorrel began her life in the moderate river-port town of Rothstadt, well within the Dasharan empire's expanding borders. Her mother died of smallpox about a year after giving birth to her, so her half-siblings; Gretchen, Fred, Marlie, and Jacob, all took on some aspect of raising her, and each became important parts of her life for different reasons. (She'll tell you she couldn't care less about Jacob, who left when she was 11 to join a riverboat crew, but she'd be
PMOCT- AuditionAtop the desk, a spider-cam scuttled about in a rather aimless manner. It scrambled over a pencil, then paused as distant footsteps swiftly approached. The next moment, the small office's door swung open to admit what looked like a woman, dark hair in a loose bun and wearing a blue and yellow jumpsuit, whistling something that might have once been a tune. The spider-cam resumed it scuttling as Hestia tossed her mop in the corner of the room and glanced at the clock.
3:05. Almost time to head home. Or it would be.
Instead of dropping off her utility belt and leaving the office, smelling of old carpet, to enjoy her Friday evening, Hestia in
HallsI walk these never-ending halls,
never-ending,
for I fail to see
a destination,
a place to be,
where these never-ending halls
are meant to be leading me.

The halls diversify themselves
from carpet to tile
and muffled to white echoes.
I appreciate their attempts
but I still sense there an unmistakable air
of uninterrupted monotony.

For still doors line the walls with frowning knobs
and still, distant figures join me
in the wanderings of these halls.

And still there is that specter
my eyes refuse to see,
for to my ears where red blood pounds,
come the whispy, steady sounds
of my footsteps following me.

And as I continue

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May 17, 2011
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:iconsupernova8041:
Marx Santos for the TBOS OCT
:icondarthvengeance0325:
~DarthVengeance0325 May 17, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
His proportions be larger than I thought.
Reply
:iconsupernova8041:
~supernova8041 May 18, 2011
Heh, that may be more due to my questionable drawing abilities than anything else
Reply
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