Post by Mikhail on Aug 27, 2010 0:07:25 GMT
Comics were always a place of refuge for Mikhail, his stories something he could retreat inside, could just loose himself for a little while in all manner of tales. They weren’t always good tales, didn’t always have happy endings and there were many that the wolf didn’t like to read, many that he owned, bought without thinking or given as gifts that he hadn’t read beyond the first few pages. Most of those revolved around fire, or girls drawn remarkably similar to his first Mistress, the sight making a strange longing rise up in his chest and he had never gotten over loosing her, being taken away from The House and thrown into a world beyond his understanding. There was so much that Mikhail couldn’t even begin to understand, so much that confused him, that went beyond blacks or whites, but comics were an escape from all of that, able to hide in make believe worlds and sometimes the worlds were cruel, confusing, but when that happened, there was always previous issues to go back to. He was rereading one of his favourites tonight, pages turned carefully, each image and speech bubble devoured with wide eyes, as though this was his first read through of the story and Mikhail didn’t already know how it ended. It was best to come to a story fresh, as though never explored before. So what if he could quote many of the lines from his favourite super heroes off by heart. It didn’t change the excitement and enjoyment that he got from them.
Mikhail was so happily lost in the comic that it took a while for the noises from outside his bedroom to sink in, from the sound of breaking glass and items smashing to the floor to really catch his attention. Frowning, he stood slowly, comic left on the bed as he quietly padded towards his door, curiosity winning out over desire to try and hide away from it all. What on earth could be happening out there, to cause those sorts of noises? It took a few more seconds for more details to filter through, to identify sound or smell and by then Mikhail was opening the door and peering out down the hallway, currently empty of any other wolves, anyone he could have called to for help although he was aware of the distant murmur of voices, some nervous, some calm – fighters were calm, controlled. None of it really sank in past the now clear signals of a fire licking at the building however.
Heart leapt to his throat at the scent of smoke – of fire. Reason and reasonable thought fled him, Mikhail stumbling backwards without thought, without desire, all he knew was that there was fire out there, fire and noise and just the sounds, the smells, brought it all screaming back. He whimpered, door slamming shut, closing it to try and block the noise, the smell but he couldn’t escape it, not now that he knew it was there, hands lifting to ears, rocking backwards and forwards on the spot. Mikhail couldn’t stay here, it wasn’t safe here, had to move, had to get out but where? To move forward out of the room would mean heading towards the fire and he couldn’t head towards fire. Another whimper slipped out as he trembled, knees giving way and Mikhail couldn’t think. Had to get out. Had to hide. Somewhere, anywhere, just had to get away. He crawled away from the door, away from the fire, slipping under the bed, curling up into as tiny a ball as he could manage, huddled tightly into himself.
Mikhail was so happily lost in the comic that it took a while for the noises from outside his bedroom to sink in, from the sound of breaking glass and items smashing to the floor to really catch his attention. Frowning, he stood slowly, comic left on the bed as he quietly padded towards his door, curiosity winning out over desire to try and hide away from it all. What on earth could be happening out there, to cause those sorts of noises? It took a few more seconds for more details to filter through, to identify sound or smell and by then Mikhail was opening the door and peering out down the hallway, currently empty of any other wolves, anyone he could have called to for help although he was aware of the distant murmur of voices, some nervous, some calm – fighters were calm, controlled. None of it really sank in past the now clear signals of a fire licking at the building however.
Heart leapt to his throat at the scent of smoke – of fire. Reason and reasonable thought fled him, Mikhail stumbling backwards without thought, without desire, all he knew was that there was fire out there, fire and noise and just the sounds, the smells, brought it all screaming back. He whimpered, door slamming shut, closing it to try and block the noise, the smell but he couldn’t escape it, not now that he knew it was there, hands lifting to ears, rocking backwards and forwards on the spot. Mikhail couldn’t stay here, it wasn’t safe here, had to move, had to get out but where? To move forward out of the room would mean heading towards the fire and he couldn’t head towards fire. Another whimper slipped out as he trembled, knees giving way and Mikhail couldn’t think. Had to get out. Had to hide. Somewhere, anywhere, just had to get away. He crawled away from the door, away from the fire, slipping under the bed, curling up into as tiny a ball as he could manage, huddled tightly into himself.