Ok, I know I'm really bad at updating, but I've been having a combination of homework, tests, work, and writer's block (not that I'm a great writer anyway) so, forgive me for not being able to update everyday, though I would love to, and the updates may not necessarily be long, I'll try to work on that...
Conscience Dreams
The sun—it flowed through his veins and the rays crawled their way towards the heart and mind, searching for the soul—scouring through dark memories and devilish doubts, finding shadows that only grew. These hollows could not be filled by sunlight alone, but by something that fuels the soul.
But there was no soul, none to be found. A complete waste—the search, the body, him. Soulless bodies deserved one thing; such waste should only be decomposed. The light, now blinding, flooded through his ears and eyes, so that all he could hear and see was brilliance. And this vaporous, liquid gold spilled into his mouth, tasting sweet, and ran down his nostrils, blocking the polluted air. Suffocated by the sun, he drowned in the light and welcomed it—welcomed death.
Two gold coins flashed, the clear water softening the metal chips.
Flauvic scrambled up from his position on the underwater moss, and coughed violently, hacking up the stream water that nearly drowned him. Cursing colorfully, he winced at the soreness of his throat. The surrounding temperature had dropped to a chill as the night arrived and a full moon chased away the sun. Now, the stream's coolness bit his numb body.
Slowly, Flauvic got up and stretched out his cramped limps. He tried to shake the pins and needles from his legs in vain. The moon made his wet skin look like a grey plaster peasants used to cover their walls.
An icy gust of wind sent involuntary shudders through his body, and Flauvic hurried over to the 'fire' that was more smoke and wood than a spark. The miniscule wind that he created by huddling around it, however, promptly blew it out.
Grumbling, he relit the fire despite being drained of energy by the cold.
Or perhaps that was why his control had slipped, and he had accidentally singed his fingertips with his own fire.
He cursed the world to Hell.
Yet, how could you curse Hell to Hell?
Sighing heavily, Flauvic once more settled around the fire while reaching for his cloths. Seeing that they were crisp and dry, he pulled them down from the rack...
Thwack!
And the rickety contraption collapsed onto the fire, sending clouds of ashes and embers billowing into the once pristine air.
"AAAAHH DAM—" Flauvic coughed violently, having sucked in the ashes. The poor man raced to the stream and hastily splashed water into his eyes. His hands were not in much better condition.
Covered in soot, he was left with only one choice. Feet first, the cinder-man leaped into the deepest center of the pond, the freezing water pinching his body cruelly.
As before, however, he did not continue in a languorous swim but clambered out as quickly as he could.
The mess his fire had created was certainly not a pretty sight. He could spot pieces of the hanger half burnt buried in the remains, but most distressingly what more he found in the gray was his newly washed cloths.
Flauvic let out a war like shriek of utter exasperation and despair, frightening a flock of birds that had rested in a nearby tree to flight.
The fugitive gazed above, wondering just how much punishment he deserved.
In reply, said sky, which had grown so tired of Flauvic's racket, decided to drown him out with its own downpour.
And as Flauvic glared at the heavens, gritting his teeth, he heard the pounding of the rain and his blood.