Abstract Invader
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÷—÷Ðiмitяi Veяlσяeη÷—÷
Imperfectcry and s c r e a m inecstacy...
Dimitri Verloren sat at alone in the cafeteria, a cup of tea and a thick paperback novel - a fantasy, for those interested - infront of him. He yawned, taking a sip of tea as he flipped the page, a slight frown appearing on his fine features; it seemed either the writing had gotten smaller, or he had not been able to get enough sleep to focus on the characters... the latter seemed more plausable. He had been woken up by the sound of a police car early that morning and panicked as he saw the time on his clock - 12:30. Of course, what he did not know as he crammed what he could into his suitcase, falling over several times as he rushed to get dressed, is that a power outage had reset the clock, leaving him to wander around the grounds for an hour before any staff had shown up. In the time between then and current times, he had already gotten lost about three times, tested the bounciness of the dorm beds (hitting his head against the ceiling and bringing the wrath of the passing janitor upon him), and gone for breakfast, getting lost a fourth time on his way to the cafeteria.
Upon finishing a rather long chapter , Dimitri put his book in his shoulder bag, adjusting one of the many pins that adorned the denim material and pulling out his sketchbook. Though he had begun following music as a career - producing electronica music online - he was also talented with the drawn arts, many of the pages already filled back-to-back with lyrics, fantasy creatures, various fashion designs, comics and other miscellanious doodles. The page he happened to flip to had been half filled with the beginnings of a song, the cursive writing scratched out, scribbled over and highlighted several times, absent-minded doodles crawling from the edges of the pages.
After a couple failed attempts at progress, he sighed, finishing his now-cold tea as he made his way outside. Perhaps there, something - or someone - would inspire him, get him out of the massive art and writer's block he had been sucked into over the past couple weeks. He adjusted the cheerfully yellow scarf around his neck, stretching as he stood to wander around.
Upon finishing a rather long chapter , Dimitri put his book in his shoulder bag, adjusting one of the many pins that adorned the denim material and pulling out his sketchbook. Though he had begun following music as a career - producing electronica music online - he was also talented with the drawn arts, many of the pages already filled back-to-back with lyrics, fantasy creatures, various fashion designs, comics and other miscellanious doodles. The page he happened to flip to had been half filled with the beginnings of a song, the cursive writing scratched out, scribbled over and highlighted several times, absent-minded doodles crawling from the edges of the pages.
After a couple failed attempts at progress, he sighed, finishing his now-cold tea as he made his way outside. Perhaps there, something - or someone - would inspire him, get him out of the massive art and writer's block he had been sucked into over the past couple weeks. He adjusted the cheerfully yellow scarf around his neck, stretching as he stood to wander around.
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B u t w h a t b e f a l l s t h e f l a w l e s s ?
