` music box angel. | open

[banks]

this is a first-person thread. open to any and all! it's a chance to get to know your character better from the inside out. i've only done it a few times, and if you don't like it, then so what? at least your character will have met banks. -snuggles-

title song: click here to listen.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,387,true]

[atrb=background,http://img43.imageshack.us/img43/5494/bankstablbg.png][atrb=width,450,true] Here is where I choose my steps carefully. In this sinkhole, this pit carved out by the paws of God searching for his buried bone like a lapdog, there’s a creek. How the hell the creek got down there, well, that’s for the sinkhole to say. You’d have to ask it, if sinkholes could answer back to you. But then again, how much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? Nobody’s ever going to know. The word “chuck” has a bunch of different meanings anyway. So who’s to say the woodchuck can’t chuck wood? The rocks cling between my padded toes. They’re all loose, no rhyme or reason to any of it, really. And here I am, just headin’ on down t’ the crick. I laugh at my own internal voice. I’ve been told I have the perfect accent normally. That’s just the region I’m from, though. We all think we’re perfect on the inside, really. Seriously, think about that. Somewhere deep down inside all of us, we like to believe we’re the perfect specimen of whatever we are. Not necessarily on the outside, that is. Everyone knows you’ve got something wrong with you in some way, whatever it is. Maybe your nose is crooked if you look at it upside down with one eye shut, or maybe it looks like you have an extra toe if you bend your foot the right way. Whatever it is, we’ve all got something wrong. But on the inside? Ever really criticize yourself? Even if you’re a liar, you believe, somewhere, that everyone else are liars too. So what’s so bad about you? You’re the most honest liar that’s ever lived. And I’m the queen of everything. God, wouldn’t that be something? I’ll be queen of the frickin’ sinkhole. The crazy giant sinkhole, laden with all kinds of creatures at my command. Probably scorpions too, those nasty little craps. They’d better bow down so far that their claws fall off and they all die. I’d have no problems there. You know, they say you talk to yourself more than anyone else. But scorpions? They probably don’t. Probably don’t even have brains. Just pinschers that like to nip at your nose if you get too close. And God forbid you ever meet the tail. I make my treacherous climb, plentiful scorpions or naught. The creek is warm, and though it’s shallow, it’s deep enough to meet my shoulder blades. Water seeps through my fur, touching my skin and pulling away all the dirt that’s been hidden there for however long it’s been since I got here. I close my eyes and turn my face up towards the sun, making myself doubly aware of the warmth of the sun’s rays. It’s a blessing that I’m here on this island. Even though I’m in a sinkhole. How did that happen? Why aren’t I in some lush forest, some beautiful coastline, something other than a hole. I’m in a hole that sunk right into the ground spontaneously. What am I even doing here? I am jolted back to reality and pull myself to shore again, laying down in the shallow, weak patches of grass. Their tendrils cry under my weight, and I almost feel bad for crushing them in all their fragility. I look down and see the dandelions, their yellow heads poking up all over the rocks. Durable things, they are. It doesn’t matter where you are, dandelions can thrive. Unless you’re in a tundra or something with permafrost. Permafrost, meaning permanent frost, as in all the time. No plants can live there, though. The dandelion’s not weak. If it can live in this sinkhole, it can do anything.

[/justify][/color][/size][/blockquote][/td][/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr][/table][/center]