Mika Whitepaws (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wolfishsurvivalist) wrote2012-12-13 01:15 pm
wolfishsurvivalist) wrote2012-12-13 01:15 pm
Entry tags:
✖ anxiety attack: 000.2 ✖ Rebellion ✖
Finding what she'd needed had taken a bit of digging, and at first she was reluctant to stay outside for long. She knew what lurked in the shadows and mildewed corners of the town, but as the ravens and crows began to settle on the walls and lampposts around her she found it easier to set up the ladder and get to work.
The first attempt was awful; childish scribbling in garish red across a half-rotten gate. The puppy sneezed at it, and she had to agree. It was pretty bad, but it was a start.
Her fitful trial and error lasted through winter and into the second spring, the attempts scattered by a few close calls that had left her bedridden for days at a time. Still, it was better. The bursts of color may not be effective but they did make her feel better. At least a little bit.
Nothing could ease the loneliness for long, but as she sat on the lower steps and looked at the drying paint over the tape, she could at least say she felt productive. That afternoon she simply sat staring at the wall with the German shepherd's head resting on her knee, her mind lost to wanderings until the raucous cawing of the crows caught her attention. It was time to go, the town was starting to get irritated and she'd been sitting still for too long.
Humid spring became a dank summer, the wretched summer soon withering into fall. One by one the crumbling walls became her canvas, and she pushed back against the town's need to feed. If she was going to go down, at least she'd go down fighting.
The first attempt was awful; childish scribbling in garish red across a half-rotten gate. The puppy sneezed at it, and she had to agree. It was pretty bad, but it was a start.
Her fitful trial and error lasted through winter and into the second spring, the attempts scattered by a few close calls that had left her bedridden for days at a time. Still, it was better. The bursts of color may not be effective but they did make her feel better. At least a little bit.
Nothing could ease the loneliness for long, but as she sat on the lower steps and looked at the drying paint over the tape, she could at least say she felt productive. That afternoon she simply sat staring at the wall with the German shepherd's head resting on her knee, her mind lost to wanderings until the raucous cawing of the crows caught her attention. It was time to go, the town was starting to get irritated and she'd been sitting still for too long.
Humid spring became a dank summer, the wretched summer soon withering into fall. One by one the crumbling walls became her canvas, and she pushed back against the town's need to feed. If she was going to go down, at least she'd go down fighting.