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Fun Fact

Tumblr was named as a finalist in Lead411’s New York City Hot 125 in Aug 2010.

blackserpentine · 3 years ago

Text

What is time, but a fleeting memory anyways? Constantly moving, never stopping, wayward towards an endless goal. You grow. You feel. You die. That’s what life is, isn’t it? If you boil down all the chemicals of life into core fractions, that is what it is. But if all of this was true, then why did this feel so strange?

Passing through a tunnel of endless colors that no being could fathom to pronounce. Boundless colors breaking the laws of space and time, screaming into his body as it traveled. His lungs being filled with air? Was this air? It was hard to breath! Glistening shards of memories being twisted like a pretzel, hearing the voices of those that he hated, those that he had loved, and those that he had lost. But one voice in particular rang clear as Ishgard morning church bells. Hear. Feel. Think. “Oh my God, he is alive!? I thought he was just a dead body.” Cough. Cough! “I told you not to poke him with a stick!” Where am I? Where the first thoughts that came to him, as his thoughts finally stopped ringing in his head, laying on the ground, feeling as though he was learning to breath for the first time again. His vision was blurry, his eyes taking more than a few moments to collect all the colors, and those around him. But after a few seconds, he could tell that those that were near him were a few children, all of which looked scared to see the man moving. “That’s so weird, he even has cat ears? That’s so cool!” One of the children spoke, being instantly interrupted by another. “You mean that’s so WEIRD? Mr. Are those things real?” The mysterious man would rise to his feet with the help of his polished, black and silver gunblade, using it almost like a cane. “Where. . .am I? What, is this place?” His voice was a mere whisper, looking over the place that he had been transported to. He couldn’t remember when, or why--the last thing he remembered back on Eorzea was-- “Excuse me, do you know where I am?” “Wow sir, you must have REALLY hit your head huh?”

“Hey! Mom said not to talk to strangers, remember?” One of the other children nudged the older boy. “Oh yeah, sorry Mr. I can’t talk to you, you’re a stranger.” Coughing once more into his hand, he tried to speak: however it felt as if he just got out of bodies of water, almost drowning! His body wanted to cough up water, but there was nothing to cough up. “Your mother is right, you shouldn’t talk to strangers, that’s very smart.” Wheezing into his hand, finally clearing his voice, yet still tired and weak, he continued. “My name is Strider. . .now that we are acquainted, would you mind telling me where I might find something to eat?”

Both the kids looked at one another, as if they were both silently asking one another if they should answer him, and if it would be okay to talk to him. Both nodding, they turned their gaze back to the black, white tipped haired man. “Well, here in the slums, I guess there is ONE place that has really good food!

S E V E N T H H E A V E N

The tall man, now being draped by a tattered cloak he found on the streets of the slums, wrapped around his body, covering his miqo’te ears, and most of his face, only showing his slight grizzled hair across his chin. His gunblade tucked behind him, masking his body frame. He stood outside the bar, looking into the night sky above him. Where was he? How did he get here? These questions wouldn’t find themselves, especially not on an empty stomach. So the man known as Strider made his way into the bar, to encounter the bar waitress known as Tifa Lockhart.

@badassbarmaid