Epigram

Blood pumps endlessly throughout ivory veins.

Limbs move repetitively, avoiding the crisp wind of the afternoon day. The sun filtered behind forgotten hill tops; dancing idly behind the clouded veil. Cradles into the comfort of the wool; wraps the fabric around his emaciated carcass as to bite the wind backward. His efforts are simply in vain, as the wind nips his hollowed cheeks greedily.

The creature knows this place. Has memorized it's every detail; carved into the back of his macabre mind so that he may remember later. Knows brick after weary brick, has run his withered fingertips along their edges until they have leaked maroon, have punctured skin and flesh in the ambient attempt to retain him. Deadened optics trace lifelessly across cement padding, searching for source of entertainment and finding none. Limbs brush past other lifeforms -- cladded uniforms adorned with plates of respect. He has none. An ambiguous facade; marred with maroon puzzles, and decorated with blue and purple. He wears his bruises as his badge, as his prize, rather than his fault.

It stalks endlessly; meandering appendages carrying him far from the basement, from the classroom, from the comfort of sanctuary. It is perhaps what he does best -- ambiguity. Hollowed frame carries for what feels like miles: muscles weak with fatigue and indifference, circles formed under dead mirrors, and he dreams of a mattress beneath his feet. 

As he wanders, he finds himself in an unfamiliar territory: buildings formed with familiar architecture, but of a different atmosphere. Here, there is no cloud pressed to his chest. There is no daunting feeling of ill-satisfaction. Here, he finds his murmuring brain at ease. Clouded pools raise, absently, to peer at the creatures that shuffle before him: a fray of unknown sheep, bleating and blathering as they stumble aimlessly within each other. The creature does not move forward, does not engage their interaction. Instead, he stays apart. Bruised fingers dug into the fabric of his own skin, causing him to bleed maroon. He swayed, restless, at the edge; scattered pools dancing from bodice to bodice with no certain degree of interest.