Feathers disperse and float around. Twirling and bouncing, dancing.
Aquamarine and tangerine hues. Specks of sea foam and rosary pink.
It obscures some light, creating feathery shadows playing on the ground.
...
A massive, constant roar. Never ending. Never pausing for breath.
The chill is evident. The sudden dimness as well.
Droplets hover all around, but not enough to suffocate.
Venture deeper into the bushy pathway, the twisting roots, the patches of green; the air lightens even more, and the scene gradually darkens to a light, murky blue.
Minute orbs of light float about, pulsing, pulsing.
Shrubs of lilies lay still in the lonely pond.
The roar is deafening now.
Leathery vines hang about. Scruffy to the touch.
Venture deeper still. There is more.
Ancient trees arc above, seeming to hug this exotic scene.
The orbs from before dwindle in numbers now, though they hover nearby, when in need.
The pathway is slippery, mud layering the dirt.
A creek now. So slim one can cross over it.
The flora here is scarce.
Silence...
Dim, very dim.
Lightning slithers across view. Flashes. Flashes.
A thick mist, a condensed fog. Water everywhere.
The waterfall up ahead shrouded in an aqua hue.
...
Nimbly climbing up the thick bark, the child hurries.
Hurry. Hurry.
Ignoring the nicks of wounds, the imbedded thorns, the thinly thin splinters, the child hurries.
Disturbed, the cheery leaves detach themselves from their life. Floating downwards to their death.
Branches shiver and a few snap from the sudden weight of the child.
Breathing staggers, realizing the great height. The child hurries on.
Ignoring the fear.
Hurry. Hurry.
Wind whispers a secret to the forest and mountain. A secret that the child also hears.
Hurry.
Rustle. The trees all around rustle.
Almost there. Almost.
The mountain quakes, startled by the wind's secret.
The ground is frightened, and screams; mouth open wide.
So close. So close.
Now the sky high above is saddened, letting a purge of tears drench all below.
Made it.
The bright orb, embarrassed, hides from view. Darkening.
Dimming. Dimming.
The destruction, the chaos, the death.
Battered hands reach up. "Beautiful."
...
Stage lights flash on.
Audience cheers.
The band pump themselves up, getting their adrenaline high.
They wait.
Wait.
Go!
The horde in front of them.
Amazing.
Guitars are swung over shoulders, drumsticks are ready, vocals warmed up.
All ready.
First song, here we go.
Sweat trickles down their faces.
They sing their parts, yell at the fans for more, raise their fists.
Fingertips raw from the guitar's strings.
Arms sore from the endless drumming.
Vocals burning from constant singing.
Last song.
Last song.
The joy of performing.
The hurt from past troubles.
The pride in their work.
Their friendship strong.
Together always.
Alice Nine.