Post by BALLS-IS-TICK on Jan 10, 2010 1:34:08 GMT 8
When he first laid eyes upon the garden, it meant little to him. Yet another poorly constructed simulation of the 'natural world'. Underneath is neatly packaged exterior was sorrow, only words of despair could be whispered beneath the artificial icing.
What good was there if the life within was trapped, snared by the boundaries created by human hands. In his eyes, it was not wild life which lingered, but a prison strewn with corpses.
However, even a graveyard had its charm. Little did Driffe realise at that point in time it would be the land which he would refer as a 'second home' in this school.
The plants and the critters were perhaps, the only life in the social dungeon which he could consider to be true to themselves. These beings were true to their natural instincts, urged forward by the desperate desire to survive. Yet, it was a tragedy. A cruel practical joke, forcing these beings to struggle in a land which could not reward their efforts, for it lacked the essence of the natural world. Driffe admired their spirit, the toil of the oblivious.
Combing his hair backwards, Driffe began to take a stroll in the garden. In the bitter winds of winter, an attire of shirts and pants would qualify one to be naked. And naked he was. Only a yellow decorated with crimson symbols clung to his body while a pair of baggy jeans were being dragged around in the snow. Yet, he felt nothing. His mind understood perfectly what the conditions were like and how badly damaged his body would be but the piercing chill refused to invade his senses. Years of undergoing the 'hell' had destroyed his nerves, it was impossible for Driffe to be fazed by any damage afflicted to his crust.
This was his sanctuary, it was peaceful for now, due to most students being in doors. None were as cursed or as blessed with a body like his to step outdoors. However, the sheet of white was abruptly stained by a figure besides the lake. Even from such a distance, it was obvious that the figure was attired just as poorly as Driffe. It was bulky, apparently well-built, though there was a hint of a paunch. Under the icy emperor's sun, a faint shine could be seen on the figure's forehead, indicating that he was probably balding or at least, shaved.
Perhaps, the appearance of the stranger was of no importance. The 'presence' Driffe sensed from the stranger greatly overshadowed the significance of the shell.
Despite logic fencing him off, despite his senses running haywire with warnings, Driffe's legs were drawn towards the figure. Closer and closer he drifted. A goatee could be seen sprouting from the face. Next, a pair of golden eyes came into view. When he finally regained command over his body, the appearance of the figure was as clear as day.
There he was, a male roughly in his late forties, perhaps even fifty. His hair barely clung onto his scalp, ending in a ponytail. A blue jacket was loosely fitted on his body, bearing a muscular torso layered with fat, a highly unlikely combination. His privates were concealed by a pair of black shorts. Overall, a rather fitting attire for a hobo.
A thrash bag which matched his appearance perfectly was in his left hand, while the other carried a stick which impaled fallen leaves. Oddly enough, this ominous presence was cleaning up the garden.
For one reason or another, the first thought in Driffe's mind materialised verbally, "A cleaner?"
"And a pretty damned fine one I am!"
The laughed which followed broke the spell of silence in the world, perhaps, even making its way into the school.
"Names are irrelevant at this point, but you can call me Chunky."
(Will update info later. Too tired for now.)
What good was there if the life within was trapped, snared by the boundaries created by human hands. In his eyes, it was not wild life which lingered, but a prison strewn with corpses.
However, even a graveyard had its charm. Little did Driffe realise at that point in time it would be the land which he would refer as a 'second home' in this school.
The plants and the critters were perhaps, the only life in the social dungeon which he could consider to be true to themselves. These beings were true to their natural instincts, urged forward by the desperate desire to survive. Yet, it was a tragedy. A cruel practical joke, forcing these beings to struggle in a land which could not reward their efforts, for it lacked the essence of the natural world. Driffe admired their spirit, the toil of the oblivious.
Combing his hair backwards, Driffe began to take a stroll in the garden. In the bitter winds of winter, an attire of shirts and pants would qualify one to be naked. And naked he was. Only a yellow decorated with crimson symbols clung to his body while a pair of baggy jeans were being dragged around in the snow. Yet, he felt nothing. His mind understood perfectly what the conditions were like and how badly damaged his body would be but the piercing chill refused to invade his senses. Years of undergoing the 'hell' had destroyed his nerves, it was impossible for Driffe to be fazed by any damage afflicted to his crust.
This was his sanctuary, it was peaceful for now, due to most students being in doors. None were as cursed or as blessed with a body like his to step outdoors. However, the sheet of white was abruptly stained by a figure besides the lake. Even from such a distance, it was obvious that the figure was attired just as poorly as Driffe. It was bulky, apparently well-built, though there was a hint of a paunch. Under the icy emperor's sun, a faint shine could be seen on the figure's forehead, indicating that he was probably balding or at least, shaved.
Perhaps, the appearance of the stranger was of no importance. The 'presence' Driffe sensed from the stranger greatly overshadowed the significance of the shell.
Despite logic fencing him off, despite his senses running haywire with warnings, Driffe's legs were drawn towards the figure. Closer and closer he drifted. A goatee could be seen sprouting from the face. Next, a pair of golden eyes came into view. When he finally regained command over his body, the appearance of the figure was as clear as day.
There he was, a male roughly in his late forties, perhaps even fifty. His hair barely clung onto his scalp, ending in a ponytail. A blue jacket was loosely fitted on his body, bearing a muscular torso layered with fat, a highly unlikely combination. His privates were concealed by a pair of black shorts. Overall, a rather fitting attire for a hobo.
A thrash bag which matched his appearance perfectly was in his left hand, while the other carried a stick which impaled fallen leaves. Oddly enough, this ominous presence was cleaning up the garden.
For one reason or another, the first thought in Driffe's mind materialised verbally, "A cleaner?"
"And a pretty damned fine one I am!"
The laughed which followed broke the spell of silence in the world, perhaps, even making its way into the school.
"Names are irrelevant at this point, but you can call me Chunky."
(Will update info later. Too tired for now.)