“We’re getting there, hold on—” “Why have you done this, Théo?” “…” “It’s at moments like this that I wonder…”
“…You’ve fallen…twice, now…” “Will he live?” “There’s…something I should be feeling right now…” “Can you still understand me?”
“Twice…in the ice and snow…” “Will he wake?” “Guilt?” “Perhaps not. But…”
“…We keep meeting.” “From that height…How did he survive?!” “I...I don’t know if I can feel that anymore.” “There’s no shame in trying.”
“When will you stop haunting me?” “Is he human?” “I…I do feel one thing though…” “Hmm...”
“I suppose it’s fate.” “I don’t know what to think.” “…Sadness. I think it’s sadness.” “You are still not ready.”
“There can be no other explanation…” “A miracle then. So they do exist.” “It…it should’ve been me.” “You still can’t handle the truth.”
“…And I’m too lazy to find out more.” “If…if I had been more cautious—” “I…I shouldn’t have pushed you.” “I will wait then.”
“Heh.” “If….if I had paid more attention—” “…Why did this happen?” “Until you have come to terms with yourself…”
“Ah, steady—” “If…if I had been more sensible—” “…What happened to me?” “…You will not remember.”
“We’re almost there…” “What…what should I do?” “I’m sorry.” “So what use is there, talking to you now?”
“Stay with me now.” “What…what can I say?” “Please, please wake up, I…” “I will take my leave.”
“Rise and shine, old friend.” “It’s been three days…I…Am I that—” “I…I don’t want to be alone.” “We will meet again...”
“…useless?” “Mister, I’m sorry! I’M SO SORRY! I—” “Soon. Now…”
“Please…please wake up…” “It’s time to wake up.”
“…I don’t want to be alone.”
He opens his eyes.
~~~~ Welcome to Chapter 5. c: There are still some stuff to work through, but here's the first little bit. xD Merry late Christmas!
A, B, or C? Or D? Bow tie or Pipe? Vote close by 12/28 (for now)
. . .
O __ O
. . .
im not sure i can express how vivid and capturing this segment is to me with its simplicity thats strangely haunting
YES, WAKE UP, NOT-BERT!
What's this, a quiz? Umm. . . B and pipe?
it's like being awake but not quite---the sounds of others no more than a whisper and you aren't sure if they are real or just a hallucination... Thank you! Coming up with the words was a haunting experience. ovo
YOU SLEPT INTO 2019, NOT-BERT. GET UP!
Yeah. 25% of your grade, right there. Got it! You can pick one more letter, actually. What will it be?
-last edited on Jan 1, 2019 7:19:03 GMT by TeaLeaf❀
Post by TeaLeaf❀ on Jan 1, 2019 7:17:17 GMT
Suggested Music: "5:30 am"-Hiroyuki Komagata They feel heavy, weighted down, and it took all his might to accomplish the feat. His body aches as he next tries to shift his arms and legs, grasping aimlessly at the empty air. He does this slow, hands tracing the ghostly outlines of waves tugging at his legs, the transparent waters choking him free of breath. He wants to—he has to—make sure. After the third attempt, he pushes himself up and, stunned with relief, a single thought flashes across his mind.
He’s alive.
A sudden pain flares up in the back of his head and he gasps to keep his eyes attuned to the world, ever so bright and unmerciful with its brilliant colors and lights. Everything blur together into a spinning mess of flickering images and piercing wail, and he places his hands on the focus of the mental quake, suddenly terrified by their unnatural stiffness and foreign touch. Trying to ignore the drag on his weakened muscles, he continues to hold them: a desperate make-shift stronghold against the agonizing rumble. His will loosens with each increased shock, and he soon finds himself hissing in anguish and misery. Even the silence is too loud, and its quiet buzzing builds up to a sharp, blaring screech. It rises in frequency, jumbling his muddled thoughts and worsening his distress. His mouth isdry, and it is only then that he realizes he is screaming, eyes lined with tears, yet the pain only grew.
He takes a jagged breath and lowers his sore limbs, trembling uncontrollably as he raises his head in puzzlement and fear. Then, after a moment or two, he starts to recognize parts of his surroundings. The dusty pile of logs, the artificial ember lights, the rough kitchen counter…He is back at the Wesley House, laying on one of the living room couches. With a cushion rested behind his head and a blanket wrapped messily around his torso, warmth flows to every part of his frozen body and his consciousness begins to unwind. Though he still shivers from time to time, the fabric provided a much-needed comfort, and he finally lets out a sigh of relief.
-last edited on Jan 1, 2019 7:33:34 GMT by TeaLeaf❀
Post by TeaLeaf❀ on Jan 1, 2019 7:33:07 GMT
The peace doesn’t last, however. Just as he remains there, mind clear and indulged in ignorant bliss, a muted howl shatters the quiet reality and dread slithers back on his beat shoulders, igniting panic in the settling stillness. He does nothing and waits, eyes searching about the room as he removes the blanket from his arms, then chest, one tiny motion at a time. Did he mishear? The howl echoes back from wall to wall, the intervals between each appearance unstructured and spontaneous. What is it? Where is it coming from?
Another came.
It’s low in pitch, he notes. It’s unsteady in volume, wavering in length. It’s almost like a whistle but not quite, and it doesn’t sound like it’s made by another living being. Another. The final patch of the fabric gone from his legs, he stands up and surveys the interior with wide, alarming eyes. His clothing rustles as he takes a wobbly step to the right, and it is with a pleasant surprise he discovers that gone are the rags he was wearing in his entrance, replaced by a beige sweater whose sleeves are a perfect fit to his arms.
He brightens at the blue-grey snowflakes woven over its surface, as well as the brown turtleneck popping out from the V-neck opening. Paired with the pitch-black jeans, he, at last, has an air of decency and civilization about him. But how did this happen?
Another howl, and his head snaps up in attention. The question can wait; more pressing matters are at hand. In wide, careful strides, the stranger makes his way over to the counter and uncovers a small dining room setup. Four chairs are arranged lovingly around a circular wooden table: its tablecloth a unique splatter of maroon-and-pine green dye with two festive table mats on opposite sides, the space between them filled with a stack of bread and glass water jar that mirror the position of a box of eating utensils nearby.
Another.
He’s not sure where it’s coming from, nor is he certain that he’s getting any closer to its origin. Sighing, he staggers back to the couches and sees the screen door to the patio pulled back, the translucent curtains flapping idly in the Birchwood wind.
im not sure i can express how vivid and capturing this segment is to me with its simplicity thats strangely haunting
YES, WAKE UP, NOT-BERT!
What's this, a quiz? Umm. . . B and pipe?
it's like being awake but not quite---the sounds of others no more than a whisper and you aren't sure if they are real or just a hallucination... Thank you! Coming up with the words was a haunting experience. ovo
YOU SLEPT INTO 2019, NOT-BERT. GET UP!
Yeah. 25% of your grade, right there. Got it! You can pick one more letter, actually. What will it be?
its awesome.. I'm sure it was. o.o
*slaps him with a pillow* Wakie-wakie, Sleeping Beauty.
Suggested Music: "5:30 am"-Hiroyuki Komagata They feel heavy, weighted down, and it took all his might to accomplish the feat. His body aches as he next tries to shift his arms and legs, grasping aimlessly at the empty air. He does this slow, hands tracing the ghostly outlines of waves tugging at his legs, the transparent waters choking him free of breath. He wants to—he has to—make sure. After the third attempt, he pushes himself up and, stunned with relief, a single thought flashes across his mind.
He’s alive.
A sudden pain flares up in the back of his head and he gasps to keep his eyes attuned to the world, ever so bright and unmerciful with its brilliant colors and lights. Everything blur together into a spinning mess of flickering images and piercing wail, and he places his hands on the focus of the mental quake, suddenly terrified by their unnatural stiffness and foreign touch. Trying to ignore the drag on his weakened muscles, he continues to hold them: a desperate make-shift stronghold against the agonizing rumble. His will loosens with each increased shock, and he soon finds himself hissing in anguish and misery. Even the silence is too loud, and its quiet buzzing builds up to a sharp, blaring screech. It rises in frequency, jumbling his muddled thoughts and worsening his distress. His mouth isdry, and it is only then that he realizes he is screaming, eyes lined with tears, yet the pain only grew.
He takes a jagged breath and lowers his sore limbs, trembling uncontrollably as he raises his head in puzzlement and fear. Then, after a moment or two, he starts to recognize parts of his surroundings. The dusty pile of logs, the artificial ember lights, the rough kitchen counter…He is back at the Wesley House, laying on one of the living room couches. With a cushion rested behind his head and a blanket wrapped messily around his torso, warmth flows to every part of his frozen body and his consciousness begins to unwind. Though he still shivers from time to time, the fabric provided a much-needed comfort, and he finally lets out a sigh of relief.
![[ct]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/VuQNvKUDAqiOMABrQLSQ.png)
Very intriguing. 
Very intriguing. ![[derp]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/YqNTPqyQUocVMYXZgUAI.png)
Got it! What about the first vote? 
Interesting, so mysterious! 
Interesting, so mysterious! 
