Discord
01-23-2022, 05:02 AM
(This post was last modified: 02-02-2022, 03:50 AM by victorianflorist.)
> You pour the can out onto the soil, the blue-black fluid shimmering in an unseen light as it glugs out of the can and flows down onto the soil patch. The oil seeps down lethargically, slowly working its way down towards where you know the swatch of fabric to be.
> A strange, wet sensation drips down your back, a small rivulet of some unknown fluid. You ignore it, intent on the scene before you.
> You give the soil your regrets, a dull ache in your heart subsiding with acceptance. A sprinkling of heavy purple powder appears mixed into the soil.
> You give the soil your love and affection, a warmth alongside the regret, for there was a fondness for whatever it is you held dear. Bleached white shards appear mixed into the soil.
> You give the soil your respects, an acknowledgment that loss is never in vain and that regret and fondness come from one place. Pellets of a small yellow stone appear mixed into the soil.
> You look upon the garden you've planted and wait.
> A small, shriveled shoot bursts from the ground, unexpectedly. Your amorphous body jumps back in surprise. You reach out and gently touch the small grey-purple plant.
> The ground suddenly heaves below you, sand and dust blasting into the air. You're thrown back into the dirt, pain blossoming in your chest as the breath is violently thrust from your lungs by the impact. You fight through the daze looking towards the small plant and watching as the soil around it begins to swirl, and sink.
> A large pit opens up underneath and around the plant, it sprouting resolutely in place, its roots dangling in thin air. You, however, are not so lucky, and the swirling sand claims you, drawing you deeper into the pit. You fight the sand, but your lack of substance prevents you from getting a grip, and you descend deeper and deeper towards the now inky black center of the sand trap.
> The center swallows you, and all you see is darkness.
> You suddenly feel very, present, a light blossoming in the darkness you've become accustomed to. You feel a rough texture underneath you, occasionally bumping as if whatever you now lie in is rolling over rocks or holes. You distinctly hear a grinding sound coming from beneath you.
What do you do?
> A strange, wet sensation drips down your back, a small rivulet of some unknown fluid. You ignore it, intent on the scene before you.
> You give the soil your regrets, a dull ache in your heart subsiding with acceptance. A sprinkling of heavy purple powder appears mixed into the soil.
> You give the soil your love and affection, a warmth alongside the regret, for there was a fondness for whatever it is you held dear. Bleached white shards appear mixed into the soil.
> You give the soil your respects, an acknowledgment that loss is never in vain and that regret and fondness come from one place. Pellets of a small yellow stone appear mixed into the soil.
> You look upon the garden you've planted and wait.
> A small, shriveled shoot bursts from the ground, unexpectedly. Your amorphous body jumps back in surprise. You reach out and gently touch the small grey-purple plant.
> The ground suddenly heaves below you, sand and dust blasting into the air. You're thrown back into the dirt, pain blossoming in your chest as the breath is violently thrust from your lungs by the impact. You fight through the daze looking towards the small plant and watching as the soil around it begins to swirl, and sink.
> A large pit opens up underneath and around the plant, it sprouting resolutely in place, its roots dangling in thin air. You, however, are not so lucky, and the swirling sand claims you, drawing you deeper into the pit. You fight the sand, but your lack of substance prevents you from getting a grip, and you descend deeper and deeper towards the now inky black center of the sand trap.
> The center swallows you, and all you see is darkness.
> You suddenly feel very, present, a light blossoming in the darkness you've become accustomed to. You feel a rough texture underneath you, occasionally bumping as if whatever you now lie in is rolling over rocks or holes. You distinctly hear a grinding sound coming from beneath you.
What do you do?
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