Just a little one shot treat for everyone out there. Dedicated to Rocku,
Liz M, and Xalan (who just recently returned to the world of the living).
The inspiration for this piece came from a drawing I did of Rock in his
outfit.
Check it out at stagsleap.deviantart.com
Xalan's gallery is there too.
~~
It was a bright sunny day. I have often looked at the sun for a mere second. It's so beautiful. I can't imagine how anything can be that bright. It gives new life to the planet. It can take life away. If you love the sun too much, it will punish you with blindness. It will strike you with a burning whip. You will feel pain, turn away and let you tears fall to the earth. You may think nothing has happened.
Your new world will forever be in darkness. Never again.light. No. You are denied it.
Perhaps you deserve it. Perhaps. You won't get anything. Stop asking. Stop that praying. Stop begging. You are fucked.
Just like me.
I was 11. My father wanted me to take up something "Gentlemanly". I have never been a gentleman, nor shall I try to start now. At the fancy salons and parties I am shown off at, I merely act. Acting is not being. I act like a gentleman. I am not one. My father is. Perhaps it was beaten into him, perhaps not.
When I was 6, I jumped onto my sister's white pony and galloped all over the gardens at my father's mansion. I have never ridden a horse before, but I quite enjoyed it. My father caught me racing at breakneck speed around his wisteria patch. I was spanked of course, but afterwards he told me he saw some talent for riding equines. The next day I was stuck for 2 hours with a German riding teacher. From then on, I spent long hours with that crabby German man. When I was not at Marduk training, I was riding. Did I enjoy it? I don't quite know. It was just more training. Unlike my sister, I couldn't go galloping freely in the park and do as I wish.
At least the horses didn't hate me. The horses never criticized me or made fun of me. They obeyed me with little or no resistance. Did I love them? How can I answer that? I don't know love. What is love? A present someone gives you? Do you receive it or give it? Animal? Mineral? Plant? Tangible orb?
When I was 11, father was planning one of his monthly salons. A salon is an old term where a bunch of smart people get together at someone's house, usually in the parlour, and talk about intellectual things. I hated them. Sister loved them. Father would always put her the frilliest, fanciest dress he could possibly buy and she would soak up all the nice things people would say to her. Father would smile and pat his dearest darling on her head while I stayed upstairs with Nanny, out of sight until he called me down and I was put on display.
It was at one of these salons when father decided I was going to give a demonstration of all the fancy tricks I could perform while riding, also known as "dressage".
One condition - I had to wear this horrible frilly riding habit. A habit is another name for an outfit. It took Nanny half an hour just to get me to put it on. Ugh! I was so.o.o ugly! I looked like a friggin' girl! I love my father, but he thinks he's in the 18th century or somethin'.
It was a bright sunny day. I have often looked at the sun for a mere second. It's so beautiful. I can't imagine how anything can be that bright. It gives new life to the planet. It can take life away. If you love the sun too much, it will punish you with blindness. It will strike you with a burning whip. You will feel pain, turn away and let you tears fall to the earth. You may think nothing has happened.
Your new world will forever be in darkness. Never again.light. No. You are denied it.
Perhaps you deserve it. Perhaps. You won't get anything. Stop asking. Stop that praying. Stop begging. You are fucked.
Just like me.
I was 11. My father wanted me to take up something "Gentlemanly". I have never been a gentleman, nor shall I try to start now. At the fancy salons and parties I am shown off at, I merely act. Acting is not being. I act like a gentleman. I am not one. My father is. Perhaps it was beaten into him, perhaps not.
When I was 6, I jumped onto my sister's white pony and galloped all over the gardens at my father's mansion. I have never ridden a horse before, but I quite enjoyed it. My father caught me racing at breakneck speed around his wisteria patch. I was spanked of course, but afterwards he told me he saw some talent for riding equines. The next day I was stuck for 2 hours with a German riding teacher. From then on, I spent long hours with that crabby German man. When I was not at Marduk training, I was riding. Did I enjoy it? I don't quite know. It was just more training. Unlike my sister, I couldn't go galloping freely in the park and do as I wish.
At least the horses didn't hate me. The horses never criticized me or made fun of me. They obeyed me with little or no resistance. Did I love them? How can I answer that? I don't know love. What is love? A present someone gives you? Do you receive it or give it? Animal? Mineral? Plant? Tangible orb?
When I was 11, father was planning one of his monthly salons. A salon is an old term where a bunch of smart people get together at someone's house, usually in the parlour, and talk about intellectual things. I hated them. Sister loved them. Father would always put her the frilliest, fanciest dress he could possibly buy and she would soak up all the nice things people would say to her. Father would smile and pat his dearest darling on her head while I stayed upstairs with Nanny, out of sight until he called me down and I was put on display.
It was at one of these salons when father decided I was going to give a demonstration of all the fancy tricks I could perform while riding, also known as "dressage".
One condition - I had to wear this horrible frilly riding habit. A habit is another name for an outfit. It took Nanny half an hour just to get me to put it on. Ugh! I was so.o.o ugly! I looked like a friggin' girl! I love my father, but he thinks he's in the 18th century or somethin'.
