<font color=483c32>so we can move a little </font><font color=b31b1b>faster</font> [Enderly]

There's about four inches between me and a forest fire. I guess the blame is on me, really, but what else is there to say? I got bored, and when I get bored... well, it's the same old story of wolves who do crazy things when they eat something that sank into their stomachs just the wrong way. You just never know what you'll see them up to, from howling off cliffs to sounding a little too wound up... to being a little overly violent and causing a scene with blood of the wolves everywhere, marking every tree in the vicinity for days. I think you've already got a bit of an idea what happens to me when I get that not-so-sober feeling. But let me give you a little detail on the matter.

Me, about thirteen trees, and numerous pine needles getting stuck with my own blood while I was rampantly running among them, bumping heads against some of the more visible places on their trunks. Evening light seeping through the dense boughs up above now drives the painted blotches of scarlet to seem a monochrome, looking like a blue-tinged painting of a forest spread out all around me. Navy spatter, golden-blue under-toe, textured grey and azure masts supporting crowns of more night blues. If all the world was to see me now, yet would they all look at me funny for just being nothing more than myself.

Alone, on my own, here all by my lonesome for once, I was crowned king of everything just long enough to rip the throne from my own head with about as much grace as a boar in the badlands searching for food. It's exactly that which made me feel so very alone sometimes, caught up and lost in my musings and ramblings on to myself within my mind. My mind, which has the apparent power to never shut off or shut up. My mind, which can only take in so much before it reverts back to deranged. My mind, which is never the only thing hurting me, even when it doesn't hurt at all.

This is my death sentence for myself. To live, to breathe, do whatsoever in between, and die about as wild in the brain as ever I have been and ever could have been. Yes, my dirty, insane brain could pretty much run itself into the ground with me if it so much as tried.

This is the scene that greets you. The whole forest like a room in still frame, sticky red in the middle of the night with a wind ominous of something having happened. And me. Scraggly, unkempt hair matted in knots with scratch marks all along the skin again. Spots of flesh showing through like patches of congealing rouge across my pelt. Maybe a couple of shards of something like bone fragments or tree fragments sticking out in random places. A wild look. This is me. And I'm sure that you'll agree... nothing much to look at without the blood, am I?

Even with eyes of burned golden, all I can see right now, it seems, is my own bloody, blue portrait. Good night, everything. Let's wake to a new feeling, somewhere down the line.

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