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Colorado LASO piece (01.29.21.08:28)
*story is SUS*
He sighed as he recognized that, once again, for the millionth time that day, he had heard of the noises that the parrot had begun to mimic so many mnths ago.
The old house, with it's original decade-old plantation heartwood pine floors and hand-hewn wooden walls had a sort of magic that existed whether one accepted it or not; it simply was. He supposed, had it been the original intent, that the floors could be called nightingale floors since every step one took gave off a differential tone of creaking as one made their way across them. It was a long ago realized and an ever-present comfort to him now.
He had inhabited it, on and off, for roughly 20 of those 100 years. At this point in it's history, mostly due to his absence even when he was present, it was in a state of disrepair that was just this side of being ready to be condemned. He had certainly stayed in worse and if it were not in the middle of a gigantic forest, in a place most people stayed away from, he had no doubt that it could easily be found to be unsuitable for human habitation; however he was something other than human.
He had to guess the fact that everyone stayed away from and avoided him added up to the exact same reason the house had been judged unsuitable. Some days he thought maybe it worked the other way around but most days reality settled and he understood that he was in fact some sort of high-powered freak never excited for mass production. When it came to him having been judged unsuitable for contact with the general public, the events as of late had proven exactly that.
They had once again labeled him, hunted him, caged him and then as usual someone or something from somewhere from his past had come out of the woodwork, plucked him from their clutches and plopped him right back down in his old cage. Once upon a time he would have spent his days wondering whenever the next outing was going to occur but at this point he understood that he was broken and useless enough that it most likely would never happen again. He never expected to come to the point where that would be a sort of cold comfort but there were never really any glory days that he wanted to re-live in complete honesty.
The obvious overtones, not so obvious to the general consensus, that had been sold as the main narrative but in no way explained many of the instances that...
He sighed as he recognized that, once again, for the millionth time that day, he had heard of the noises that the parrot had begun to mimic so many mnths ago.
The old house, with it's original decade-old plantation heartwood pine floors and hand-hewn wooden walls had a sort of magic that existed whether one accepted it or not; it simply was. He supposed, had it been the original intent, that the floors could be called nightingale floors since every step one took gave off a differential tone of creaking as one made their way across them. It was a long ago realized and an ever-present comfort to him now.
He had inhabited it, on and off, for roughly 20 of those 100 years. At this point in it's history, mostly due to his absence even when he was present, it was in a state of disrepair that was just this side of being ready to be condemned. He had certainly stayed in worse and if it were not in the middle of a gigantic forest, in a place most people stayed away from, he had no doubt that it could easily be found to be unsuitable for human habitation; however he was something other than human.
He had to guess the fact that everyone stayed away from and avoided him added up to the exact same reason the house had been judged unsuitable. Some days he thought maybe it worked the other way around but most days reality settled and he understood that he was in fact some sort of high-powered freak never excited for mass production. When it came to him having been judged unsuitable for contact with the general public, the events as of late had proven exactly that.
They had once again labeled him, hunted him, caged him and then as usual someone or something from somewhere from his past had come out of the woodwork, plucked him from their clutches and plopped him right back down in his old cage. Once upon a time he would have spent his days wondering whenever the next outing was going to occur but at this point he understood that he was broken and useless enough that it most likely would never happen again. He never expected to come to the point where that would be a sort of cold comfort but there were never really any glory days that he wanted to re-live in complete honesty.
The obvious overtones, not so obvious to the general consensus, that had been sold as the main narrative but in no way explained many of the instances that...
