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starres awesome journal
My stories.. the product of a vivid imagination and boredom. with very inspirational music and friends
You were sitting at the local coffee joint, steaming cup of mocha latte whatever burning your palm when you suddenly get the gut feeling of someone or something watching you. You set your coffee on the postcard sized table, and check high and low before settling back to sip the coffee down and walk to work.
It isn't long before you have that neck-hair raising sensation again. You stop and look around once more before walking a little faster to your dreary day job.
The feeling fades and for the most part, you forget it happened, until late afternoon when you're walking home.

You finally catch a glimpse of something in the corner of your eye, and you turn your head to finally see what was weirding you out that morning.
You see a pair of ice blue eyes, and you instinctively know that those eyes have seen, and know, much more than you could ever hope to learn. Her rose colored lips accentuate her pale flesh, smirking a knowing grin.
Startlingly blue hair is gathered under a blue calligraphic-lined black cowl, but, a few tendrils of that thick hair have escaped, waving in the non-existent afternoon breeze. The top of that generous hood has an ethereal dark purple quill. An other sense in your mind tells you that this one quill has written more words in more languages than you could even begin to imagine.
One hand has snaked out from her form, and is cupping a glass orb. you sense that this glass sphere holds a plethora of information, prophecies and promises, letters and stories, joy and heartbreak. Your whole being yearns for her to hold that orb just a little tighter, just so it doesn't stand a chance of even slipping from her slender- fingered grip.
You just now see her other slim arm barely restraining a blue wolf-like creature.Its' tail lashing in what seems a barely suppressed fury. A gut feeling tells you that it is only acting to be tame, because underneath that facade is a creature that would fight beyond its' death for its mistress of knowledge.
You have somehow broken down into a baser form of self. An instinct inside you has you moving your head in a slow nod, one that is returned from this strange vision in back and violet.
Your vision clouds a slow gray as she fades from your sight, and eventually, your memory.

You awake in your just barely comfortable bed in the barely affordable efficiency apartment with no memory of how you got there. You assume you had a wild night of heavy drinking due to the pounding headache and memory loss.
The lack of cotton mouth tells you different, but to this day, you still cannot remember what happened, beyond a half-seconds glimpse of hard ice-blue eyes and a smirking grin.


Confictura
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