The Little beast
By
Joshua Adkins
A pine kneeled floated downward and aimed purposefully for the front of his head as if air directed it perfectly to himself. All others that followed were inept but curious as they willed their way close, but missed. Like made from steel he pushed his face together as if one from its hypodermic brethren supplanted itself, and this imposter stabbed him slowly but forcefully, making his eyes take aim of his nose and repress all other sights.
This green object played at odds to his overreaction, and he played movies he had seen in his mind. In a seconds delay he would play what were in his head projected to the Forrest background, running a sophistication of immediate history in 360 degrees. So as he turned, he could not escape his past, and as a farmer who forgot to water his crop in a seasons previous, the misfortune he sat upon while staring in the woods were a past of his own negligence, whose existence could only be curative through the traveling of time, but if he did manage to make the nonlinear nature of life's categorizing practical, he need only do a simple act for each and every mistake that played the paradoxical projection of something into the trees, but if only this projector could be procured and destroyed of. Then could he escape his past, or would they continue to play with him in their empirical absence, one where every decision he had made wereborn out of an irrevocable patient zero who infected other times of his life and whose airborne nature made it so no matter how much he washed, no matter how much he thought, no matter how much he left this world for sleep, they only exponentially ratified themselves forcing the picture of that first series of mistakes onward like a diseased explorer who only went through someplace already cleared, one in which they never would die. One in which the disease would never get sick. And one in which no immunity could ever be found of. A place of anarchy that watched itself from inside of his own head like a brain parasite looking through a tiny mirror at itself.
30 min of pulsating appreciation for his past ended when that tiny organism in his head vanished like steam in the wind, and he could literally test his theory trying to create his mind of an unused canvas, but ultimately all white were just another color used by this interminable sociopath which without his projector whispered sweet nothings into his mind but left him enough room to label this thing. And so as time categorized, so did he and this time they seemed to work together, as he huffed and puffed at his own self not another in sight. But as he stay mad at himself, his face forced an anger to help him and scar the little monster inside, as if the diminutive beast could see from a larger mirror outside of the body of Dante. But the small animal remained blind to his face just as fearless as ever, and as we do Dante's believing that he could control his mind bread a situation which mimicked this fact.And as he thought of himself and what he had done, he began to hike downhill.
He gazed through the forest but instinctively, like he had evolved X-ray vision and only to fall onto the projection of something real the Forrest vanished, and as if it a blank slate, their stood three deer, shinning off the white of the canvas, fortune stole him from his situation, and as if had been decades and the little monster died of old age, so did too an action of goodness, were born to which he became stronger. And as he tried to think of the past, he stayed onto the mother and her two babies but walking forward as if their nature were tied to his and all live organisms in the area were feed of each other and nothing to scar them or him operated. So when he took another step the deer looked to him, and as it's babies followed there mother endearing Dante to the group, the canvas stayed blank of all things besides the three, and a novel incentive followed the three beautiful things as they came to him. Then as if giant magnets opposite to their charge but regular in their attraction the pretty animals continued his way, and he followed them as her babies followed her.
Appreciating the sneer, the resurrected little beast made in his mind it could see the deer and the little thing mimicked the animals snorting and appreciating Dante. He walked patiently, storing nothing in his vision but what was focused. But what as he came closer and the deer got larger as he approached, everything he had done in his previous, came tumbling from himself to theground. The two littlest deer stood beside their mother, placing their hooves up and down to show excitement. Dante forced himself to them and their mother, downward, caressing their heads ambidextrously.
As he moved his hand back and forth across the head of the mother and felt the little ones move themselves near his legs, he was encircled by nature, and the nature of the forest he was missing came to be with them. The little beast died and he never kept to himself again going through life, available to everyone.
By
Joshua Adkins
A pine kneeled floated downward and aimed purposefully for the front of his head as if air directed it perfectly to himself. All others that followed were inept but curious as they willed their way close, but missed. Like made from steel he pushed his face together as if one from its hypodermic brethren supplanted itself, and this imposter stabbed him slowly but forcefully, making his eyes take aim of his nose and repress all other sights.
This green object played at odds to his overreaction, and he played movies he had seen in his mind. In a seconds delay he would play what were in his head projected to the Forrest background, running a sophistication of immediate history in 360 degrees. So as he turned, he could not escape his past, and as a farmer who forgot to water his crop in a seasons previous, the misfortune he sat upon while staring in the woods were a past of his own negligence, whose existence could only be curative through the traveling of time, but if he did manage to make the nonlinear nature of life's categorizing practical, he need only do a simple act for each and every mistake that played the paradoxical projection of something into the trees, but if only this projector could be procured and destroyed of. Then could he escape his past, or would they continue to play with him in their empirical absence, one where every decision he had made wereborn out of an irrevocable patient zero who infected other times of his life and whose airborne nature made it so no matter how much he washed, no matter how much he thought, no matter how much he left this world for sleep, they only exponentially ratified themselves forcing the picture of that first series of mistakes onward like a diseased explorer who only went through someplace already cleared, one in which they never would die. One in which the disease would never get sick. And one in which no immunity could ever be found of. A place of anarchy that watched itself from inside of his own head like a brain parasite looking through a tiny mirror at itself.
30 min of pulsating appreciation for his past ended when that tiny organism in his head vanished like steam in the wind, and he could literally test his theory trying to create his mind of an unused canvas, but ultimately all white were just another color used by this interminable sociopath which without his projector whispered sweet nothings into his mind but left him enough room to label this thing. And so as time categorized, so did he and this time they seemed to work together, as he huffed and puffed at his own self not another in sight. But as he stay mad at himself, his face forced an anger to help him and scar the little monster inside, as if the diminutive beast could see from a larger mirror outside of the body of Dante. But the small animal remained blind to his face just as fearless as ever, and as we do Dante's believing that he could control his mind bread a situation which mimicked this fact.And as he thought of himself and what he had done, he began to hike downhill.
He gazed through the forest but instinctively, like he had evolved X-ray vision and only to fall onto the projection of something real the Forrest vanished, and as if it a blank slate, their stood three deer, shinning off the white of the canvas, fortune stole him from his situation, and as if had been decades and the little monster died of old age, so did too an action of goodness, were born to which he became stronger. And as he tried to think of the past, he stayed onto the mother and her two babies but walking forward as if their nature were tied to his and all live organisms in the area were feed of each other and nothing to scar them or him operated. So when he took another step the deer looked to him, and as it's babies followed there mother endearing Dante to the group, the canvas stayed blank of all things besides the three, and a novel incentive followed the three beautiful things as they came to him. Then as if giant magnets opposite to their charge but regular in their attraction the pretty animals continued his way, and he followed them as her babies followed her.
Appreciating the sneer, the resurrected little beast made in his mind it could see the deer and the little thing mimicked the animals snorting and appreciating Dante. He walked patiently, storing nothing in his vision but what was focused. But what as he came closer and the deer got larger as he approached, everything he had done in his previous, came tumbling from himself to theground. The two littlest deer stood beside their mother, placing their hooves up and down to show excitement. Dante forced himself to them and their mother, downward, caressing their heads ambidextrously.
As he moved his hand back and forth across the head of the mother and felt the little ones move themselves near his legs, he was encircled by nature, and the nature of the forest he was missing came to be with them. The little beast died and he never kept to himself again going through life, available to everyone.
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