Edit: If you don't get the whole hands thing...ehm...ask our very own Firestarter...he'd know.
Critique/Enjoy!
***
[This is written in the viewpoint of Liberty]
His lank, shinky hair flops down in front of his eyes, partly obscuring the lenses of his crude reading spectacles. His hair is black, pure black, like obsidian. Like a raven. Like sin.
O, but his eyes, his eyes, his eyes.
His brilliant violet eyes seem to penetrate, to peer into your very soul, radiating hate. Love. Utter confusion.
His lips are but tiny lines of pink in an abyss of milky, almost ghostly skin. They look so stern, so rough, but O, they are incredibly soft to the touch.
He is starting to look like a man; his shoulders broadening, his waist thinning. He is muscular, oh yes, but he has the build of a gentleman- it does not fit him and the laborious lifestyle that God has chosen for him. His hands are calloused and are shiny with burns but his fingers are slender, with nails perfect and unchipped. Smudges of blue ink litter them, contrasting greatly with his skin. He holds a book in his arms, the lettering on the cover faded and worn- although, if one squints, they can make out the title, The Compleat Works of William Shakespeare.
It may be his shirt is too large and his britches are too small, but what does that matter?
Tell me, good Reverend Fairchilde, why have you marked off my esteemed Luke as a mere poor, homely, unenlightened boy? He is nearly a man, and in no way ugly or destitute!
Or, perhaps you think he is a threat?
Yea, we all know the events that took place at Havettefield Main three years ago. We all know he killed a man. O, but it was to save his brother from the same fate! Surely one could understand!
But perhaps a few of us are still cold and unforgiving, O good Reverend Fairchilde?
He has repented, he has sought for forgiveness from the Father, like any good Christian should. He is humble, he does not brag about such things, although I understand it is quite a right of passage for men to show off how strong they are, to test their mettle.
You treat him like some sinful peasant, when the poor boy is racked with spells of melancholy that threaten to overcome his entire being. He still has terrible visions of the man as the bullet plunged into his chest...
O, but my Luke is beautiful, he is perfect in all respects. Good Reverend Fairchilde, I know you warned against feeling in such a way about a man before one marries, but I cannot help it.
O, how love twists and obscures matters so!
***
Irk, I hate it when writers do this...
this is kind of a spin-off of the Song of Songs (Solomon, if you prefer). If you haven't read it, I think it's between like Proverbs and Malaci or some obscure prophet like that. It's basically a really long love poem...*corny music plays*
The creepy thing is...this is mainly just subconsious thoughts...it's like I actually become these people...can't exactly help it if it's bad. *twitch*
Tell me if it is, certainly, however.
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