Post by Naoki Kashima on Mar 16, 2011 2:57:56 GMT -5
He walked through the dim, fire-lit halls. You would expect spider webs hidden in the corners, yet the walls, floors, and ceilings were spotless.
If only there was knightly armor decorating the school, he thought.
He was met with a silver and polished set of armor when he turned a corner.
Course.
Our hero then tripped as the tip of his toe hit the floor. He valiantly held his balance as he gracefully swung his hands in huge circles while moving forward. He certainly wasn’t fazed as his face applied a force onto the floor. Let us ignore his bleeding nose.
Fudge. I just wanted a psych book, dangit.
Nonchalantly, Naoki stood back up. He pinched his nose with his left hand while pulling out a tissue with the other.
As our hero bleeds from this unintentional wound, the gushing life liquid leaving his body, he expertly maneuvered the tissue so that he could envelop his nose in the firm yet soft caress of a tissue.
His blue hoodie was marked with red. So were his khaki pants. Specks of bright red circles, soon to become crimson. Glancing at his left hand, he thought
Crap. Where the heck’s the bathroom?
Covered in blood, his hand looked like it just beat someone into a pulp. By slapping. Like a wuss. Yet, it had a bright red spot in the center of his palm. Almost as if he squeezed the life of an internal organ. Fatality.
Valorously wandering these haunted halls, he eventually gave up his search for the prestigious psychology room. Doing some extra reading with the textbook can wait. Our hero must first recover his strength. Alas, his search for a bench has failed. He did what he could. His back slammed, and by that, I mean he lightly leaned, into a nearby wall.
He slid down, like a defeated fool, heart torn out and broken. Nothing drastic happened. He just looked like it.
I’m bored.
And so he sat, pretending that two imps were dueling with pitchforks while Mr. 47 lay bleeding and distressed as he was in Contracts.
If only there was knightly armor decorating the school, he thought.
He was met with a silver and polished set of armor when he turned a corner.
Course.
Our hero then tripped as the tip of his toe hit the floor. He valiantly held his balance as he gracefully swung his hands in huge circles while moving forward. He certainly wasn’t fazed as his face applied a force onto the floor. Let us ignore his bleeding nose.
Fudge. I just wanted a psych book, dangit.
Nonchalantly, Naoki stood back up. He pinched his nose with his left hand while pulling out a tissue with the other.
As our hero bleeds from this unintentional wound, the gushing life liquid leaving his body, he expertly maneuvered the tissue so that he could envelop his nose in the firm yet soft caress of a tissue.
His blue hoodie was marked with red. So were his khaki pants. Specks of bright red circles, soon to become crimson. Glancing at his left hand, he thought
Crap. Where the heck’s the bathroom?
Covered in blood, his hand looked like it just beat someone into a pulp. By slapping. Like a wuss. Yet, it had a bright red spot in the center of his palm. Almost as if he squeezed the life of an internal organ. Fatality.
Valorously wandering these haunted halls, he eventually gave up his search for the prestigious psychology room. Doing some extra reading with the textbook can wait. Our hero must first recover his strength. Alas, his search for a bench has failed. He did what he could. His back slammed, and by that, I mean he lightly leaned, into a nearby wall.
He slid down, like a defeated fool, heart torn out and broken. Nothing drastic happened. He just looked like it.
I’m bored.
And so he sat, pretending that two imps were dueling with pitchforks while Mr. 47 lay bleeding and distressed as he was in Contracts.