Slayer of Zombies (affectsofxero) wrote,
Slayer of Zombies

this is a new story i wrote. its long so whatever. today i was getting super pissed. i have calmed down now. i hate when i get angry, but old people, and ignorance piss me off.

Shaping of a Stone

Thick warm flowed onto a hooded man. Decrepit sandals shuffled through thin strands of grass, the blades tickling naked toes. Ripped, frayed, and dirtied pant bottoms followed behind the sandals, gathering tears of dew in its fabric. Suddenly the procession of shuffling sandals halted. Rough, dry hands appeared from the folds of the hooded man's sweatshirt. Slowly like a strip tease the faded black cowl fell to rest on broad shoulders.
Looking into a sapphire sky through webs of branches, the warrior known as The Rising Sun absorbed deeply the thick warmth of a spring sun. Mute large-eared headphones hugged his neck; on this day he enjoyed the composition of life. Similar to the sound of the ruffling foliage, the pants brushed onward. Around the traveler a sea of sounds and colors wafted by. Flowers, bushes, and grass choked away the few weeds he observed along his path. Hands hidden in the caverns of a giant front pocket the Rising Sun loosely moved to a new sound, a second act beginning.
Bubbling sounds popped in the distance, the sound creating a new beat and rhythm to the piece being composed by nature. Lured by this siren's song, loose moving samurai moved. Diverging from the path, brush, branches, and debris of dead nature retarded his pace. Flowing between out stretching arms of hunter green and fingers of lush green he continued on this slowed pace to the babbling in the distance.
Hands emerged through foliage, and then dark shorthaired head pressed outward. A body was born from the bush. Standing tall with a golden orb before him in the brilliant sky, he gazed upon life. A small current of water flowing, pressing, turning, and continuing. Watery hands ran along the edge of the stream, smoothing the barrier of earth. The sounds of the crystal liquid splashed against stones that darted through. Its rhythm of currency was as smooth as the flow of life, and in that light Rising Sun saw a thousand diamonds twinkle in the afternoon.
Taking a contained number of steps, he reached the stream and lowered himself before it. Falling carefully his legs collapsed under him, his back remaining straight and proud. Nothingness the sound as his knees rested against the earth, forcing his feet to turn under him. On the arrow shaped form his feet made rested his backside. Left hand slid from his pocket and down his side. Revealed from beneath the graying black fabric a wooden tsuka. The wood of the handle was becoming stained darker from the excretions of the warrior's hands. Pulling out ceremoniously the blade smoothly spilled from under a cracking brown leather belt. Removed by his right hand on the tsuka snug against the tsuba guard, he raised the sword in front of him, arm straight, blade parallel to the earth. Bowing forward he placed the weapon in front of his knees. Back to the proud position of steel straight his hands resting on his thighs he breathed meditation.
Moments passed in the time between inhalations. Monotony of breathing released no-thingness of the mind, and only the Rising Sun and a river of life remained.
Crushing. Devastation. Breathing of a bull huffed. Under heavy falling foot leaves disintegrated and twigs snapped powerfully. Disturbance.
Curtains rise and calm ocean eyes stare out. Burning ears anticipate the approach of the monstrous sound. Grumbles of annoyance were not far off as the crushing of nature continued ever closer. Cursing the names of generic plants it was observed this was not a bull. As the samurai was once born of the plants, thistles and leaves sprayed into the air in a mighty gush, and vomited forth was a man. A man whose shadow was not as long as the disturbance he created stooped.
With obscenities pudgy hands ripped remnants of the destroyed plants from the flat of a hammer. The intent of the destruction of construction had obviously disappeared in the hands of this beast; the sledge was now a destroyer of more than man had built. Dried rust, that had been blood, caked and flaked off the blunt bludgeoner. Firm hands gripped the metallic neck and black-tape-repaired handle. Moving forward this miniature mighty man swung the tool over thick shoulder letting it bounce against his naked flesh.
Away from the shadows of forest, he was exposed and gilded by the day. Illumination did not favor the filthy man. Moving to the statue still position of The Rising Sun sitting, his bare chest rose violently, falling heavier with a quiet earthquake grumble.
Short blanket shadow falls over the sitting man. White particles spray from a frothing mouth and rest on shambled hair. Sweat rolled serpentine down the back of the short man, as bull breathing beast man lowered. Crude words of weakness, insincerity, and desecration sprouted life from his mouth, and into the cool ears of The Rising Sun. Emitting ignorance to the obtrusive person, gave way to a burning of the hammer wielder's face.
In hand earthen sword risen from the ground, parallel, and slips into its comfortable position under belt tsuba halting the progress. Rising straight, perpendicular to Earth, warrior moves in motion that is seen as one. Quickly but without rush, brown haired man is up, back a wall to the short man. Quiet speakers still rest snuggly around thick neck as the grayed hood comes up and shadows The Rising Sun. Hidden from the beast, it screams at him to stand, to fight, to scream back, to fight back, to be a man.
Turning of his head, blue eyes pear from under hood and stare into the man. Silence becomes the man. Back around head forward, the body follows the direction. The pair travels off along where the waters edge washes away the earth. Soft gentleness of Life's flow begins to become a rage of torrent. Crushing and slapping the rocks that dare to strike its surface.
From a baby of a stream this had become a monster. Rushing and turning powerfully over cliffs of rocks and around sharp corners. Standing tall against the rage of the water these monolith rocks withstand the trial of time. They stand tall. It is to these statues of resilience a finger points out at as words appear in the air from under a hood:


Deep breathing of rage subsides. Grumbling silences, the bull rests. What remains standing at the waters edge is a man in thought. Upon the thick stooping shoulders a weight bears down upon him. Fridged steel begins to crush bone of shoulder, pushing up bruises purple. Heavier the weight of this construction destructor pulls him down to the ground. Pain becoming unbearable unable to withstand the pressure without the pain of anger, the hammer slams to the hard stone below. Resting on the blunt end of the weapon, its handle and shaft stay up without the wielder. Without the hammer, the wielder falls to the ground defeated.
Knees under the barely beard of the dirty man, thick arms wrapped tightly around. Blankly staring out at the river. Next to the bare chest, short mesh short man is the hammer, and opposite to that the figure known as The Rising Sun.
In fairy book style, the wooden sword-carrying warrior heads away. Shuffling away, the sun was finally setting on a family album perfect picture day. Blazing orange ball sets the sky to crimson with treetops foreground. Silhouetted against this bloodied sky is a cowled figure walking into its visual horizon, while a man once a beast sits to watch the water. Sitting and watching, the stones stand being shaped by the water, the waters path being shaped by the rock.
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