Story cover for White Crayon by Cirbei
White Crayon
  • WpView
    LECTURAS 159
  • WpVote
    Votos 35
  • WpPart
    Partes 18
  • WpHistory
    Hora 52m
  • WpView
    LECTURAS 159
  • WpVote
    Votos 35
  • WpPart
    Partes 18
  • WpHistory
    Hora 52m
Concluida, Has publicado may 19, 2023
"If you ever feel down, or you feel like your worthless, just remember the white crayon. No one can use one. No one needs one." 
One second children are laughing and the next someone got hurt. It could be someone else's fault, or purely coincidental. Everyone deals with guilt differently. Some play the victim, using it to play the main character in a story that was never written for them. Some surround themselves with things and people that can turn their mind off for awhile. Others might feel guilty when they weren't even there. They feel like they need to go through something similar or worse to validate their suffering. 
Others grin and bear it, maybe because they don't have time, or they don't want the time. 
The day everything came barreling down, Rune Winston was a White Crayon.
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Strands of your mind cling together like web to a slippery leaf bathed in the morning dew. You have seen both heaven and hell, witnessed the atrocities of war firsthand, and imagined a better life in the deepest, most intimate corners of your dreaming spirit. The wishes for peace and certainty you have once so desperately longed for, now lay trampled underneath the might of your mind's vivid horrors. What was once so bright and lively, now cowers in fear, clinging to gone memories like a shipwreck survivor to some lowly piece of driftwood. From the depths of hell, you arrived victorious, grasping the laurel wreath high above your head. Unrecognizable, with your empty eyes telling a story of innocence brutally taken away from the child curling in shame in the depths of your empty soul. Almost green you are, curly head, having grown up with a rifle by your bedside table, never knowing peace and quiet. Out of the pan that was the Kazdel Civil War and into the scorching flames of Lungmen, where life flows by on its own accord, here, you must learn to live once more. So put on your best facade, Let the reuniting trumpets ring a wild, And allow the city to swallow you whole. Here we are, a continuation of my previous work "Goodbye Curly Head", which sprawled into quite the epistle (but it wasn't really a letter, it's just long :P). Summarized in the most basic way possible, it's a story about a twenty-year-old Kazdel Civil War veteran who goes to Lungmen and has some troubles acclimating to the steady life presented before him. Sprinkle in a too-good-to-be-true offer and a freshly established logistics company, and you get Andy trying to make it big for as long as his deteriorating mental state lets him. I'd say it works as a standalone story for anyone who doesn't want to bother reading the first part. For now, at least. As always, please, pwwease leave a comment, positive, negative, I LOOOVE reading and replying to comments!!
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