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A Fate Surmounted By Scorn; [Single Post]
Topic Started: Jan 14 2014, 07:36 PM (215 Views)
Czernobog
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Best Influence.
He had barely ridden the motorcycle, and so was unprepared for the way that it felt like it would shake his legs apart. He had stowed some things in it. Three tarps wrapped with a long cord of rope. A sleeping bag tied on with the same. A bag containing multivitamins and some dried food. An oilcan. He had gone home long enough to bundle up.

He rode through the night.

Out of the city, the headlamp of the motorcycle slicing through the gloom.

His shadow had tried to kill him. He was fine with that. There was something familiar and comforting about his death being desired.

It had made the leap to trying to hurt someone else to harm him.

That was something he couldn't be fine with.

He crossed one of the bridges out of town, a suspension bridge. The great cables that held it up sliced through the air and produced brief moments of silence as he passed by them, each one making a sssssssshhh-hah sound in his right ear as he passed it. He headed in the direction of the moon, which looked like a lump of tarnished silver. It was growing fatter, heavier, closer to full. After that it would dwindle and fill again.

He turned his eyes back down to the road.

He hadn't been to the trail he was going to once since that fateful day. It had been like a switch had been flipped those nine years ago, like he had been shunted off of the proper course and into a nightmare.

It--

Frightened eyes sinking into rushing water.

The motorcycle wobbled a bit, but he righted it.

He remembered the drive there. It had taken forty five minutes. Getting out past the city limits, and up into the mountains near the river. It was technically private land, but the owners had put up signs directing people on the paths to take, had left it open to the public.

It was meant to be visited in the summer. They had gone in the spring. Now he was returning in the autumn.

Naoya got there as the moon passed the halfway mark in the sky, and rode a short distance up the path, and hid his motorcycle. By firelight, he disconnected the battery and drained the oil, wrapped it in one of the tarps, and began to walk up the mountainside.

He would have his camp set by morning, and then he would begin to wrestle with this thing inside of him.

And he would best it or it would best him.
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