Post by michaeladamwalsh on Apr 7, 2010 7:02:28 GMT -5
There wasn't a home for Michael, nor a life that could shelter him, at this point the only places that served as a humble abode were decent locations that provided a safe place for slumber. The cemetery seemed like a good choice, it was well maintained with soft grass and perhaps an open tomb. Michael wasn't paranoid about the possible demons or vampires that lurked around at night, because he never had any recollection of their existence. Internally, Michael may have been the same as many nocturnal monsters, but his mind separated itself from his past a while ago, leaving his life slate completely blank, nothing from the frayed edges of his memory could be recovered.
His garb was deceiving, it didn't demonstrate his lack of a home and stability. The clothing he wore he kept the utmost care for, his garments were located in the locker he investigated after his wake. Despite his thick jacket, Michael could still feel the temperature drop a few degrees and chill his flesh; the cold seeping in though each pore. He strolled between the rows of stones, reading several scattered testimonies for lost ones. His destination was a large tomb near the back, usually the rich forgotten bodies were buried there.
He paused, having a strange paranoia flush over him and he quickly surveyed the cemetery. There was always the feeling that one was being watched or there was company in an empty space. Michael never had a lot of those feelings out of the blue, usually there was some one there. After the sudden fright Michael walked to the entrance of the small chamber, the lock was broken, the sort of luck Michael was hoping for. He was reluctant towards caution, any aware citizen of Sunnydale would know that it was probably the entrance to a lair, Michael saw it as a make-shift household.
The door opened to a kingdom of shadow, every square inch within the tomb identically engulfed in darkness. Michael fished through his pockets, attempting to locate his light source just by recognizing the texture and shape. His fingers slid over a variety of objects, but they all had unique signatures, finally he located a glow stick; it illuminated a larger radius than a flashlight. He cracked the stick, allowing the liquid to glow a vivid orange.
The tomb was just what Michael expected, abandoned, filthy and a perfect hiding spot. He walked around the circular chamber, dusting off the tomb in the center and taking off his jacket for a temporary pillow. His instinct was survival, no matter the discomfort or cost. Another wave of paranoia surged through him and he lifted the glow stick to survey the small room.
It was empty. Michael sat on the edge of the coffin and eventually positioned himself on top for slumber. He didn't intend disrespect, the dead would probably have mercy on his lost soul. On his side he brought the glow stick close to his figure. Keeping his environment lit, it would last until the morning; the favorable difference between a glow stick and flashlight.
His mind pondered about the lives of normal people. What was it like sleeping in a bed? How did they get to sleep? Who fell asleep with them? Michael would never know, he was denied those privileges. His amnesia neglected the luxury of being more interesting. The word memories didn't apply to him, the proper term is pieces to his never ending puzzle.
It wasn't long before Michael's thoughts weighed down his lids. The feelings of paranoia slowly faded away as his eyes closed.
His garb was deceiving, it didn't demonstrate his lack of a home and stability. The clothing he wore he kept the utmost care for, his garments were located in the locker he investigated after his wake. Despite his thick jacket, Michael could still feel the temperature drop a few degrees and chill his flesh; the cold seeping in though each pore. He strolled between the rows of stones, reading several scattered testimonies for lost ones. His destination was a large tomb near the back, usually the rich forgotten bodies were buried there.
He paused, having a strange paranoia flush over him and he quickly surveyed the cemetery. There was always the feeling that one was being watched or there was company in an empty space. Michael never had a lot of those feelings out of the blue, usually there was some one there. After the sudden fright Michael walked to the entrance of the small chamber, the lock was broken, the sort of luck Michael was hoping for. He was reluctant towards caution, any aware citizen of Sunnydale would know that it was probably the entrance to a lair, Michael saw it as a make-shift household.
The door opened to a kingdom of shadow, every square inch within the tomb identically engulfed in darkness. Michael fished through his pockets, attempting to locate his light source just by recognizing the texture and shape. His fingers slid over a variety of objects, but they all had unique signatures, finally he located a glow stick; it illuminated a larger radius than a flashlight. He cracked the stick, allowing the liquid to glow a vivid orange.
The tomb was just what Michael expected, abandoned, filthy and a perfect hiding spot. He walked around the circular chamber, dusting off the tomb in the center and taking off his jacket for a temporary pillow. His instinct was survival, no matter the discomfort or cost. Another wave of paranoia surged through him and he lifted the glow stick to survey the small room.
It was empty. Michael sat on the edge of the coffin and eventually positioned himself on top for slumber. He didn't intend disrespect, the dead would probably have mercy on his lost soul. On his side he brought the glow stick close to his figure. Keeping his environment lit, it would last until the morning; the favorable difference between a glow stick and flashlight.
His mind pondered about the lives of normal people. What was it like sleeping in a bed? How did they get to sleep? Who fell asleep with them? Michael would never know, he was denied those privileges. His amnesia neglected the luxury of being more interesting. The word memories didn't apply to him, the proper term is pieces to his never ending puzzle.
It wasn't long before Michael's thoughts weighed down his lids. The feelings of paranoia slowly faded away as his eyes closed.