05-11-2018, 12:12 AM
[div style="margin-top: 30px; text-align: center; font-family: timesnewroman; font-size: 35px; color: white;"]pierce parker
☀ — and till the end you're my very best friend
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//sorryy this suCKS [member=52]IVYLEE[/member] & mobile
Pierce wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Without friends and family or a duty to fulfil, he felt kind of... useless, aimless, like there was no real point to anything he did. For some, having no responsibilities might seem freeing, but it was quite the opposite for Pierce, forcing him to stew in his thoughts and try (and fail) to fill the gaps in his memory. For, while there were not many that were obvious to him, the ones that were were stressing him the hell out, and he had to get his mind off of it. How did he usually get his mind off things? Well, his art, of course.
Today, just outside of camp, Pierce was working on a simple piece, using his trusty oils, though he was running a bit low- he’d left the majority of his paints, oils, acrylics, and even watercolors, with his family, asked them to return them to him, as they had far more time to pack then he had. In a stark contrast to the white terrain that surrounded him, Pierce was working on a brightly-colored painting of what would become a sunset over a lake and a forest, something he knew he’d watched a thousand times, and found comfort in painting. Snowbound was his place of residence, sure, but the picture he was putting together, that was his home, with a bit of frost still clinging to the grass and the sun casting an orange and pink, almost peachy, yellowy glow over everything. The sky was turning brilliant shades of orange and purple, navy blue beginning to spill over it. The stars would emerge, eventually, but for now - and for all time, considering it was, you know, a painting - the sky would maintain its gorgeous colors, and hopefully distract Pierce from his worries, at least for a little while.
"speech"
Pierce wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Without friends and family or a duty to fulfil, he felt kind of... useless, aimless, like there was no real point to anything he did. For some, having no responsibilities might seem freeing, but it was quite the opposite for Pierce, forcing him to stew in his thoughts and try (and fail) to fill the gaps in his memory. For, while there were not many that were obvious to him, the ones that were were stressing him the hell out, and he had to get his mind off of it. How did he usually get his mind off things? Well, his art, of course.
Today, just outside of camp, Pierce was working on a simple piece, using his trusty oils, though he was running a bit low- he’d left the majority of his paints, oils, acrylics, and even watercolors, with his family, asked them to return them to him, as they had far more time to pack then he had. In a stark contrast to the white terrain that surrounded him, Pierce was working on a brightly-colored painting of what would become a sunset over a lake and a forest, something he knew he’d watched a thousand times, and found comfort in painting. Snowbound was his place of residence, sure, but the picture he was putting together, that was his home, with a bit of frost still clinging to the grass and the sun casting an orange and pink, almost peachy, yellowy glow over everything. The sky was turning brilliant shades of orange and purple, navy blue beginning to spill over it. The stars would emerge, eventually, but for now - and for all time, considering it was, you know, a painting - the sky would maintain its gorgeous colors, and hopefully distract Pierce from his worries, at least for a little while.
"speech"
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