Post by Panda on Apr 6, 2010 16:56:17 GMT -5
My first story ^^ It is pg 13, like anyone here cares and thats about it. Enjoy!
He walked down the street and saw the first night of spring. Buds were sprouting forth, the smell of pollen hung thick in the air, and a multitude of flowers were pushing up through the dirt, as if just proving to the world they could. Everyone was in a happy disposition like spring was some kind of drug. Nothing was amiss to the people of this town. He stopped walking, and reflected on how much he hated every little detail. Spring time was his curse. The time that was supposed to mark new life for the world marked the end of his, and every thing about spring reminded him of that. It was the season of change, and stuck out so much that he could not ignore it any more.
He was in fact just he, for he had never seen the point in having a name. If He had wanted to find a name that fit him perfectly, then he probably could have without any trouble. He had thought of some of the best names in the world that fit him so perfectly, that no one ever forgot his name, but when spring had passed his name would no longer fit. He loathed change, and spring was the season of change.
He had put off his duties for far to long. It was Saturday, and he had until the sunset on the next day to find what he was looking for. He scanned the all too happy people for what he was looking for. He had considered picking a name before finding out what he would look like after spring, but that had left him with an all to perfect name, and a look that was ill fitting. He wanted to find it before night had completely fallen. He had never been the type to wait until the last second every year. He stopped to cough up a little bit of blood that had been plaguing his lungs. It didn’t bother him, because he was about to find new life. He would never fail at this task. It was the one thing He had to do each year, and he had never failed. He had come close about eighty years ago, when he was still young and naïve, but that would never happen again. Back then he was cocky. He was convinced that since the other sixty times went so well that he could just wait until the last day, the last hour, the last minute. But that was back then. Even though, he still remembered it all to well. Just like the day he had become immortal.
He sighed. A pointless gesture, because all of his emotions seemed to leave him this time of year. Just another reason to hate spring. He reached the intersection, and turned around. He missed the time when there were thousands of trees in this place. He missed that big house that used to be over to his left. But it was an old design. The support beam was wood, and got more rotten with each year. He had felt part of him die when it fell down, but the feeling was not new to him.
He looked up and saw what he had been looking for. It was a simple man, about 35 years of age, but he had a black top hat, with a black satin ribbon around it. It was that nostalgic feeling he got when he saw it that made up his mind. The man was walking towards him, as if he wanted what was coming. He never felt pity anymore. This was the 147th time. Just like any other in his mind. Just like all of the others that gave him new life every spring. “Hey you there!” He called out as the man got closer. “That is a mighty fine hat you’ve got there Sir.” The man was not stranger to kindness, living in this secluded little town, so he tipped his hat, said ‘thank you kindly’ and was about to go on his way. He passed on his left, and threw a forceful punch at the man’s jaw, knocking off his hat. He leaned over the man, who was on the ground from the unnatural force of the blow.
He fell to the ground. His heart had stopped flat out. The man calmly stood up, and grabbed his hat. “Death… I will have to try that some time.” The man walked forward a bit, then stopped. “Hmm, maybe I will give this one a name. Who knows, number 147 might be my last one. It’s been long enough after all.” He looked at his old body, and then kept on his way. He rubbed his jaw. “Damn I hit hard. If there ever is a next time, I will hold back some more.” He kept on his merry way, because the body was not his problem. He never went to his own funeral.
He walked down the street and saw the first night of spring. Buds were sprouting forth, the smell of pollen hung thick in the air, and a multitude of flowers were pushing up through the dirt, as if just proving to the world they could. Everyone was in a happy disposition like spring was some kind of drug. Nothing was amiss to the people of this town. He stopped walking, and reflected on how much he hated every little detail. Spring time was his curse. The time that was supposed to mark new life for the world marked the end of his, and every thing about spring reminded him of that. It was the season of change, and stuck out so much that he could not ignore it any more.
He was in fact just he, for he had never seen the point in having a name. If He had wanted to find a name that fit him perfectly, then he probably could have without any trouble. He had thought of some of the best names in the world that fit him so perfectly, that no one ever forgot his name, but when spring had passed his name would no longer fit. He loathed change, and spring was the season of change.
He had put off his duties for far to long. It was Saturday, and he had until the sunset on the next day to find what he was looking for. He scanned the all too happy people for what he was looking for. He had considered picking a name before finding out what he would look like after spring, but that had left him with an all to perfect name, and a look that was ill fitting. He wanted to find it before night had completely fallen. He had never been the type to wait until the last second every year. He stopped to cough up a little bit of blood that had been plaguing his lungs. It didn’t bother him, because he was about to find new life. He would never fail at this task. It was the one thing He had to do each year, and he had never failed. He had come close about eighty years ago, when he was still young and naïve, but that would never happen again. Back then he was cocky. He was convinced that since the other sixty times went so well that he could just wait until the last day, the last hour, the last minute. But that was back then. Even though, he still remembered it all to well. Just like the day he had become immortal.
He sighed. A pointless gesture, because all of his emotions seemed to leave him this time of year. Just another reason to hate spring. He reached the intersection, and turned around. He missed the time when there were thousands of trees in this place. He missed that big house that used to be over to his left. But it was an old design. The support beam was wood, and got more rotten with each year. He had felt part of him die when it fell down, but the feeling was not new to him.
He looked up and saw what he had been looking for. It was a simple man, about 35 years of age, but he had a black top hat, with a black satin ribbon around it. It was that nostalgic feeling he got when he saw it that made up his mind. The man was walking towards him, as if he wanted what was coming. He never felt pity anymore. This was the 147th time. Just like any other in his mind. Just like all of the others that gave him new life every spring. “Hey you there!” He called out as the man got closer. “That is a mighty fine hat you’ve got there Sir.” The man was not stranger to kindness, living in this secluded little town, so he tipped his hat, said ‘thank you kindly’ and was about to go on his way. He passed on his left, and threw a forceful punch at the man’s jaw, knocking off his hat. He leaned over the man, who was on the ground from the unnatural force of the blow.
He fell to the ground. His heart had stopped flat out. The man calmly stood up, and grabbed his hat. “Death… I will have to try that some time.” The man walked forward a bit, then stopped. “Hmm, maybe I will give this one a name. Who knows, number 147 might be my last one. It’s been long enough after all.” He looked at his old body, and then kept on his way. He rubbed his jaw. “Damn I hit hard. If there ever is a next time, I will hold back some more.” He kept on his merry way, because the body was not his problem. He never went to his own funeral.
