Sonic the Hedgehog is property of Sega.
BREAKNECK
Runs.
Light devours night.
Blindly, his acute blue appendages dance and shudder a frenzy in the cool wisp. The illuminated, suspended freckles greet their star. He is the paper man.
Gears moving fluidly, consummate conditioning serves as lubricant to his arduous path. Tracks dry but patterned in marriage with turf. A steady supplement of signature markings are paved discreetly in mass.
Blue steel transcends planes, smearing reality, verifying alien lineage to observers. Knees are so long.
He believes in the vapors. Ethereal transparence. Explosive range. Kinetic confusion served aplenty over a flutter in the fabric of space.
He relishes the cacophony of life passing him in a blink, terrain in flux. A myriad of colors spinning inside the vortex of the turbulent disk serve reminder to actions not halted.
Suddenly, there is an issue with elasticity south of the waist. Unexpectedly, bearings respond with cunctation, the sparkling parts guilty of insubordination.
Unforgiving laceration births.
Without heed, the rhythmic pattern is jarred, robbed of its innocent glory and bastardized, scarred indefinitely. He lags and disrupts natural progression.
He navigates with sprays of trepidation. The coalescence of chroma transposing into an array of the distinguishable variety ignites his path of suspended slumber.
The first block, unnoticed, and clipping the path left unscathed, rapes the carrier and its host of their sanitary desires.
Uncertainty first blooms. The undertone of doubt seeps through pores, infecting animated fabric. A shearing force of gentle life screams resolute in outcry, subjecting its host to unimaginable affliction.
His perturbed sonic boom lashes toward the infinite sky, coursing through hollow resonance and falling asunder.
The black twin, always in stride with his graceful efforts, edges him out in purity, if only due to the lack of depth coursing through.
The blue man grants his friend a scornful vision, ashamed to be subjecting his tireless counterpart to this theater of clumsiness.
The voiceless doppelganger is not amused, being left bare to wrath of nature's harsh glare and fires a visceral request at his master, urging restoration.
Blue wishes to acquiesce to the request and combats to inhibit forced leakage of the paroxysm of displeasure.
He bears witness to the suspended halo fast lunging near.
Glove fingers extend, encompassing the golden seal from his perception as he draws near, falling on a tangent towards the packed soil.
Toxic pricks vein. Shouts out dry. But he must make it.
Red transfusion drains sights a plenty, delivering itself in masses to its mother.
The ring remains unscathed, his body merging rapidly with the floor, messily succumbing to the land and its harsh laws. His harmonic anguish is drowned out abruptly by a sea of crust.
Night consumes light.
Stops.