Anoniem
Anoniem
Anoniem
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HarryStyles schreef:
JA IK HEB IETS GESCHREVEN EN IK WIL BEST VERDER GAAN MET EEN TWEEDE HOOFDSTUK OFZO MAAR IDK ZEKER DUS ALS JE EVEN LIEF WILT ZIJN EN DE TIJD WILT NEMEN OM HET TE LEZEN EN WELLICHT EVEN JE MENING ACHTER TE LATEN DAN ZOU IK DAT ERG APPRECIËREN DANK JE
Lights were flickering in the distance, a feeling of hope came up in his guts. He had reached civilization and was for once very relieved about this. As he sped up his pace towards the building he started to see some letters. A sign. The bright red and yellow letters formed a name. "Glass Roadhouse" it said. A bright smile appeared on his face, a feeling of relief going through every inch of his body. Maybe he was going to survive this. Maybe.
Around him, all he saw was trees. Behind him, all he saw was darkness. And not so long ago, all he could see in front of him was darkness as well, but now there was hope. For days he had walked through the world, not knowing where he went, just knowing he had to keep walking. For days he had been running away from everything, from that one night. He didn't want to think about it yet it was the only thing on his mind. That, and how if he wouldn't find something to drink or eat, he would die.
His pace slowed down as he reached the old dusty building. He pushed against the door that said 'pull' as he didn't want to spend time reading it. A little embarrassed he then pulled the door open. The lights were still flickering one second before he walked in, then all of a sudden they were shining as bright as they possibly could. He could see the woman behind the bar looking up at him in confusion. It seemed to him she wasn't expecting any customers. This was when he realized he had absolutely no idea what time it was. He had no idea how long he had been walking around aimlessly. He knew days had passed, he saw the sun rise and go down again multiple times, but he lost count. It couldn't have been longer than a week, he thought. But to be fairly honest, he had absolutely no clue.
"We're closed." The honeyed voice almost seemed to echo through the almost empty roadhouse. Beside the woman behind the bar he could see two men sitting at a table and a younger girl cleaning up some other tables. They didn't seem very closed to him, but he wasn't going to say that, he didn't want to be rude."I need help, please?" His taut voice made the woman raise an eyebrow. She looked unsure about her next decision, but chose to be helpful. He couldn't have been more thankful. But he would have understood if she didn't want him there, she told him they were closed after all. But she did want to help, and he was as grateful as ever.
"Sit down boy, what's your name? What do you need?" she asked him silvery. As he walked up to the counter he noticed her cognac brown eyes, so bright he could barely believe they were real. The color was so surreal he was unsure if she was even human, though he knew she was. He always knew. Now he didn't believe in the myth that eyes were the gateway to the soul, but if they were, she had one of the most beautiful souls he had ever seen. And sadly enough, he had seen a lot of them. Beautiful ones, but also less nice ones. He had seen all kinds of souls and right now, at this very moment, he wished he hadn't. He wished this woman her soul could have been the very first one he saw, though it wasn't. And he had to live with that.
"It's Misha." He sat down on one of the stools placed in front of the bar, biting his lip softly. Misha was only his second name, but it was the one he went by. He didn't want to use his first name, it reminded him of times he badly needed to forget. "I need Walter Hunt," he sighed under his breath, not expecting the woman to hear him.
The woman however did hear him. A look of confusion and even a little fear appeared on her face. "Wait. You knew him? Personally?" she asked suddenly standing closer across from Misha, making him a little uncomfortable, though he was not sure why. He was sure that if the counter between them hadn't excisted she would be standing against him in curiosity. He was thankful for whomever had placed the counter there.
"I knew all of them," he murmured. "Atleast, I thought I did. Once. A long time ago." He shifted on his seat, not being very sure where to look so he looked down at his hands. He could see patches of dried blood still sticking on the insides of his hands. He had tried cleaning them by rubbing them on leaves and his clothes, but it hadn't worked and now there weren't only patches on his hands, but also on his brown trench coat. He hadn't crossed any water in the time he walked, so he hadn't been able to clean himself up yet. He wished he could clean himself.
She looked interested, the little fear in her eyes had disappeared and curiosity had taken its place. "What were they like?" she asked curiously. Misha had the feeling like maybe she knew them once as well. She obviously knew who he was talking about. Maybe she was one of their clients once, maybe she was family. If she was, he would probably be the one to tell her the bad news. He didn't like the thought of that, but she deserved to know. She had to know.
Some crumpled copy of a smile crossed his face. "They were going to change the world," he sighed looking up at the woman standing infront of him, a little frown playing on his face, unsure if he should continue talking. But the woman seemed eager to hear it. "And around them, the world burned." His eyes went dark for a moment, memories of that night flashing in front of him. He didn't want to go back. But he had to. He knew he needed to finish what they started. He had to make them proud, or he had to die trying.
JA IK HEB IETS GESCHREVEN EN IK WIL BEST VERDER GAAN MET EEN TWEEDE HOOFDSTUK OFZO MAAR IDK ZEKER DUS ALS JE EVEN LIEF WILT ZIJN EN DE TIJD WILT NEMEN OM HET TE LEZEN EN WELLICHT EVEN JE MENING ACHTER TE LATEN DAN ZOU IK DAT ERG APPRECIËREN DANK JE
Lights were flickering in the distance, a feeling of hope came up in his guts. He had reached civilization and was for once very relieved about this. As he sped up his pace towards the building he started to see some letters. A sign. The bright red and yellow letters formed a name. "Glass Roadhouse" it said. A bright smile appeared on his face, a feeling of relief going through every inch of his body. Maybe he was going to survive this. Maybe.
Around him, all he saw was trees. Behind him, all he saw was darkness. And not so long ago, all he could see in front of him was darkness as well, but now there was hope. For days he had walked through the world, not knowing where he went, just knowing he had to keep walking. For days he had been running away from everything, from that one night. He didn't want to think about it yet it was the only thing on his mind. That, and how if he wouldn't find something to drink or eat, he would die.
His pace slowed down as he reached the old dusty building. He pushed against the door that said 'pull' as he didn't want to spend time reading it. A little embarrassed he then pulled the door open. The lights were still flickering one second before he walked in, then all of a sudden they were shining as bright as they possibly could. He could see the woman behind the bar looking up at him in confusion. It seemed to him she wasn't expecting any customers. This was when he realized he had absolutely no idea what time it was. He had no idea how long he had been walking around aimlessly. He knew days had passed, he saw the sun rise and go down again multiple times, but he lost count. It couldn't have been longer than a week, he thought. But to be fairly honest, he had absolutely no clue.
"We're closed." The honeyed voice almost seemed to echo through the almost empty roadhouse. Beside the woman behind the bar he could see two men sitting at a table and a younger girl cleaning up some other tables. They didn't seem very closed to him, but he wasn't going to say that, he didn't want to be rude."I need help, please?" His taut voice made the woman raise an eyebrow. She looked unsure about her next decision, but chose to be helpful. He couldn't have been more thankful. But he would have understood if she didn't want him there, she told him they were closed after all. But she did want to help, and he was as grateful as ever.
"Sit down boy, what's your name? What do you need?" she asked him silvery. As he walked up to the counter he noticed her cognac brown eyes, so bright he could barely believe they were real. The color was so surreal he was unsure if she was even human, though he knew she was. He always knew. Now he didn't believe in the myth that eyes were the gateway to the soul, but if they were, she had one of the most beautiful souls he had ever seen. And sadly enough, he had seen a lot of them. Beautiful ones, but also less nice ones. He had seen all kinds of souls and right now, at this very moment, he wished he hadn't. He wished this woman her soul could have been the very first one he saw, though it wasn't. And he had to live with that.
"It's Misha." He sat down on one of the stools placed in front of the bar, biting his lip softly. Misha was only his second name, but it was the one he went by. He didn't want to use his first name, it reminded him of times he badly needed to forget. "I need Walter Hunt," he sighed under his breath, not expecting the woman to hear him.
The woman however did hear him. A look of confusion and even a little fear appeared on her face. "Wait. You knew him? Personally?" she asked suddenly standing closer across from Misha, making him a little uncomfortable, though he was not sure why. He was sure that if the counter between them hadn't excisted she would be standing against him in curiosity. He was thankful for whomever had placed the counter there.
"I knew all of them," he murmured. "Atleast, I thought I did. Once. A long time ago." He shifted on his seat, not being very sure where to look so he looked down at his hands. He could see patches of dried blood still sticking on the insides of his hands. He had tried cleaning them by rubbing them on leaves and his clothes, but it hadn't worked and now there weren't only patches on his hands, but also on his brown trench coat. He hadn't crossed any water in the time he walked, so he hadn't been able to clean himself up yet. He wished he could clean himself.
She looked interested, the little fear in her eyes had disappeared and curiosity had taken its place. "What were they like?" she asked curiously. Misha had the feeling like maybe she knew them once as well. She obviously knew who he was talking about. Maybe she was one of their clients once, maybe she was family. If she was, he would probably be the one to tell her the bad news. He didn't like the thought of that, but she deserved to know. She had to know.
Some crumpled copy of a smile crossed his face. "They were going to change the world," he sighed looking up at the woman standing infront of him, a little frown playing on his face, unsure if he should continue talking. But the woman seemed eager to hear it. "And around them, the world burned." His eyes went dark for a moment, memories of that night flashing in front of him. He didn't want to go back. But he had to. He knew he needed to finish what they started. He had to make them proud, or he had to die trying.
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