Post by Ringo Evans on Aug 25, 2006 23:38:46 GMT -5
It was late. Toward the end of shift that had seemed much longer than it may actually have been. At a desk a relatively short wizard sat, drumming his fingers upon the wood, staring off in the distance at nothing in particular. Visiting hours were over, he need not check on anything, only wait for his shift to end and whomever was to replace him show up.
As he sat alone his mind began to drift as it often did, to the past. Some say it is not healthy to live in the past. But what are you to do when you present is nothing to be proud of. He had it all once. He was widely loved, he was a star. A singer and guitar player in a wizard rock band. Hell, they even played muggle gigs. Some where out there some person had a Neutral Stick shirt shoved in a drawer, or turned into a rag to check the oil of a car with. That's what he was now. An old shirt who had his moment of wear only to be thrown out and forgotten, not longer cared about and left in pieces. A stain upon the world.
But why was he here then, in this hospital? Perhaps it was some way of redemption for the things he had done. It was also a way to pay the bills. He had a natural talent for this area, it was something that had brought him trouble, but now it was able to pay his tabs and his barren apartment's rent. A long yawn escaped him that he attempted to cover with his hand but only seemed able to do half heartedly. A few slow blinks and he just continued to stare off into space and to the dark abyss that was his inner thought. Where the hell was the next shit anyway?
(very much not my best but I just wanted to get a topic up.)
As he sat alone his mind began to drift as it often did, to the past. Some say it is not healthy to live in the past. But what are you to do when you present is nothing to be proud of. He had it all once. He was widely loved, he was a star. A singer and guitar player in a wizard rock band. Hell, they even played muggle gigs. Some where out there some person had a Neutral Stick shirt shoved in a drawer, or turned into a rag to check the oil of a car with. That's what he was now. An old shirt who had his moment of wear only to be thrown out and forgotten, not longer cared about and left in pieces. A stain upon the world.
But why was he here then, in this hospital? Perhaps it was some way of redemption for the things he had done. It was also a way to pay the bills. He had a natural talent for this area, it was something that had brought him trouble, but now it was able to pay his tabs and his barren apartment's rent. A long yawn escaped him that he attempted to cover with his hand but only seemed able to do half heartedly. A few slow blinks and he just continued to stare off into space and to the dark abyss that was his inner thought. Where the hell was the next shit anyway?
(very much not my best but I just wanted to get a topic up.)
