- Joined
- Jul 30, 2010
- Messages
- 768
- Reaction score
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Walking through the crowd, shoulders cascade across each other; some businessmen, others on their way in an errand. A pickpocket's place of work, and a fugitive's place to hide; the crowd shuffled in harmonious chaos through the streets.
A particular person, of particular note and worth roams the inner lanes of the mob. Slowly she'd notice, all eyes shifting on her. People pass, unable to disengage their gaze. As if to coax her into confrontation, each insignificant body after the next. Over time, their paths would broaden; the mass of moving bodies alter course to widen a large opening at the center, encasing the female at its center. Still starring, the body of cattle move with a like mind; chest to back, shuffling with no room to squeeze between. Should she wonder for a weak spot in the crowd's structure, she would find a hooded figure in darkness; the only other besides herself to populate the inner space of zombie-like citizens. If not absolutely sure, a thought would ring true that this character is the one responsible. Soon she wouldn't have time to think, as the figure's right hand would emerge to open; the bottom two fingers holding a sparkling lightsaber hilt of heavenly majesty. Was this a dream? Perhaps... But as his middle finger curls in to flex upon the activating button, one would wonder: how much do dreams hurt?
A particular person, of particular note and worth roams the inner lanes of the mob. Slowly she'd notice, all eyes shifting on her. People pass, unable to disengage their gaze. As if to coax her into confrontation, each insignificant body after the next. Over time, their paths would broaden; the mass of moving bodies alter course to widen a large opening at the center, encasing the female at its center. Still starring, the body of cattle move with a like mind; chest to back, shuffling with no room to squeeze between. Should she wonder for a weak spot in the crowd's structure, she would find a hooded figure in darkness; the only other besides herself to populate the inner space of zombie-like citizens. If not absolutely sure, a thought would ring true that this character is the one responsible. Soon she wouldn't have time to think, as the figure's right hand would emerge to open; the bottom two fingers holding a sparkling lightsaber hilt of heavenly majesty. Was this a dream? Perhaps... But as his middle finger curls in to flex upon the activating button, one would wonder: how much do dreams hurt?