The Fable Of Grey Perspectives by aFilthySmutWriter Septia

The Fable Of Grey Perspectives

The Fable of Grey Perspectives

Written by Septia.

With the hue of a neon peach-peel, the sky illuminated the afternoon streets. -Krrrssskkkrrssskrrsh- The scraping of metal writing on concrete heralded Brona's passage as she walkedbeside a building with a horseshoe slack to the brickwork, tracing two white streaks in the wake of the prongs. The flaps of her tattered attire fluttering in waves of cloth, while her hair rodethe wind. The scraping had started out as a mere impulse of vandalism, but continued for over a block now. Seeing that the misfortunate spirit had somewhere to return to for once, she preferred to get lost in the termite nest of gray buildings.
“Shoulda written down the address,” she mumbled. Brona peered up a streetlight, then the people below it, then their city; all of which melded into one another in hue and intrigue, both being equally low.
“Losers n' jerks,” she snorted. She kept walking, her rancor channeled in the weight she was putting onto the horseshoe guided into the rock as she advanced. -Rkkrrrtchcnk- Then slipped into nothing as the wall suddenly ended. Brona tumbled into the ally, her side slumping onto the cobblestone with her clothing trailing after in a hail of rugged strap. -Dmmpwth- She slumped to the ground with the emotional intrigue of a plastic bag. Remaining motionless for a moment.
“Phaa. Eyap,” she mumbled. Once she got up she followed the path down the alley, throwing caution to the streets as she opened a door at the end and moped through. She heard the buzz of business on either side of the hallway through the building, though merely stumbled on through the next door she could find… and on the other side…
Brona squinted. The light appeare to reimposed itself through her eyelids as she beheld the streets in front of one another. The passage sprawling open and into a lush of foliage. Trees standing tall and stretching their crowns into one another at the very tips, weaving the sky in the patchwork of branches and clear glades.
“Is this the same place I a’ been before?” she mumbled. As Brona stepped down the stairs from the gate her gaze fell downwards, there were still streets, but they sloped down in a sharp angle together with the landscape, this city had not bulldozed the landscape here, but rather sprung up and formed to the natural slopes of the environments.
Stepping into the park she could see pathways leading through on tangled paths through resting spots and streams as wooden or cobble bridges. The flowing water illustrated how the shapes which the landscape had been carved out from through decades, and aside from minor structures, the forest was untouched. Looking down the slope, Brona saw how it continued horizontally until it faded back into city, but from this height she saw further patches of similar flourish, interweaving with the colored concrete and later out towards the lakes. She clutched a horseshoe to her torso.
“Would you look at that,” she said, letting her eyes roam across the city.

She strode through the park appreciating the natural visage, with only the occasional disturbance passing her now and then, only some ever making attempts to interact with her. She did not let this bother her. It seemed the path she took forked and split many times, leaving her curious where others ways would lead to new discovering. On this path she found this was much more than a park as small districts of buildings were raised here and there along the way, coexisting with the surroundings. Some trees having branches that penetrated the structures, and with window and wall compositions hinting towards this involvement of nature designed. Or, allowed.
“Where is it… Mm, she said it was at his favorite spot, but all off Atiela park is his favorite spot to perch,” an avian man grumbled to himself, scouring along the edge of a stream.
Brona peered his way, seeing such a desparate man in search of a precious lost trinket… she rubbed her fingers together.
“Skirkrkiis,” A hiss swelled in volume as a plump rat tumbled off from a branch above, and landed straight into the avian's headdress.
“Paha ahw, aw hag c-chow ch shoo get-get ogsag asha.” -Krlrplgshs- with frantic flailing the man tumbled back into the stream, landing hind first in the knee-deep water and soaking his suit with splotches of dampness.
The rat scurried off of his head, dove to the bottom and snatched up a glowing object, tail swishing through the stream as it darted away. “That can't be-be… Get back here you little vermin,” he cried out and stumbled after the critter.
“Mehe…” Brona huffed out a snicker, leaving the man to his escapades as she resumed her stroll. Climbing up a rock to peek over a hill, Brona could see a couple moving towards one another with the vigor of having been separated for a long period of time and just now seeing one another again. Peering upwards she noticed a branch sloped downwards, snapped by a storm or other intervention. She fished out a horseshoe from the melange of her dressings, aimed the shot, and flung it to the branch. The metal pealed a satisfying -Chnnng- as it clanked into the bark. She strutted along without a care, pausing only briefly as she heard a resounding crack and the resulting crash of the branch behind her.
“Gotcha,” she mused on.

Brona steps were turning lighter, her lungs drinking in the fresh air around her. Scurrying across the grass, leaping over rivers, twirling around each tree to see what lay ahead… until after one stem, she could see the brickwork of the city encroach upon the grass once more. Brona clicked her tongue, letting her eyes trail up along the sloping landscape.
“Come now, I will race you the last hop home.” A boy called out, as he leaped down the path.
“Pha, yo you better watch it, punk,” another voice called from above, Brona's eyes sweeping from the human boy upwards, spotting a cocky slug gal slaloming down over the grass, “I am much faster than you'd give me credit for.”
Brona twirled out a horseshoe, spun it on her finger, her expression flat as she honed it in along the Slug gal's path… then lobbed it. The iron crescent skipping over the ground, intersecting her slope at just the right spot. The flung horseshoe detached her front from the ground as gravity claimed her.
“Wh-whaoaaaooaaaa-.” She called out as he fell in an arc over the path in front of her.
“Wh-What's the matter-.” The boy said as he turned around, seeing the slug hurtling towards him, their gaze clashed. -Chddwtwtmtpgsht- Came the slam of their impact, as the slug gal's body pummeled the boy into the ground. But along it was another sound, one more sinister and slick with the natural lubricant of the mollusc –Chrrrwshshcllpath-wpt-. Brona caught a glimpse of how the boy flinched backwards, aligning his head with hers, and the tilt of his leading the slug to colliding with his nostrils. the boy's flexible nose coupled with the slug's amorphous body… -Chrrllpwrrstsh- His nasal bridge engorged with the slug's head, in the initial impact, and the nostrils contorting around the shoulders. -Shsrllrpscths- By the time he hit the ground the bloat had subsided much of its bulk down his neck, gullet swollen by two hands, jutting straight upwards with a tremble and bounce to its recoil. -Chrrlspg- -Csptksh- A splatter of slime volleyed out from his face, gunking onto his forehead and in a ring on the ground, encircling the pair. The bulges cressing the boy's body wobbled as they settled on the stilted grass, the weight pinning his head backwards, and the angle of the ground piling pressure onto the slug's body. -SHrhrrlpstsh- It squeezed in further.
“Mgmw mrgm” the boy struggled, shaking his head with his throat jammed and his limbs coated in slime, his motions only wedging the gape wider for the slug -Shhtstps- to funnel through his nostril. -CHGhrlsgs- The bulges shifted downwards, from the contorted bridge down the jammed gullet and wringing all the way deeper towards the guts.
The majority of the slug's tail still hung out from the boy's face, from that angle she appeared as nothing more but a gargantuan booger, matching the texture and consistency of such phlegm.
“Ghrag, ghagllrg-…” squeezing, heaving as his throat clutched around the girl. -Chhgrllpgsh another hand-length of the slug drained down the taut precipice of flesh, then another, each gulp resounding in a guttural -Chrgrhs- from the boy's nasal cavity, throat, and abdomen compressing and gradually the slug gal's body was compressed through the gape, snorted up; the booger diminishing as it reunited with the boy's body. His nostril flexing and pinching into her tail as it -Shhvllrpstsh- curled inwards. -Chrggfrrwwwwft- And with a snort drooping of slime, -Ghrmmrgbpghtg- the Slug's tail vanished down the broadened cavern of flesh. The boy's gullet pumping the form to engorge his gut, swelling it out into his t-shirt so the fabric tautened to form folds along the sides, with the mollusc's body confining to the gut, doming out the upper half of his abdomen to a smooth cupole, the zigzag pattern of the shirt's print accentuating the outlines of the inflated dollop of flesh. The fabric laid tautened enough that one could see little tendrils bending under the pressure of prying brushes from within hand prints welling up only to be drawn back into the abyss of flesh.
“Afppfmaah hafau, crrhchha,” the boy coughed up lungfuls of raw phlegm, sloughing out of his mouth as mounds of resin. His breathing.
“Wh-aht. Hasppned? Mfms I hit my head so d, saaouch…” a muffled voice came from the protruding abdomen.
-Bhruurallalaarrrhpop- the Boy belched so vines of the goo trailed up on the hot wings of his breath, spattered back down over his ace after the expulsion. He hiccuped, breathing ragged, dots of vermilion cropping up in a galaxy of splotches spreading out from his swollen nose.
“Ah thank ahm ehllerghurk.” He huffed out, his palms digging into the grass to hoist himself up, but slumped out by his side in exhaustion.
“W-what?” the slug inquired from within.
“Bad luck, loser,” she said, but he wasn't in a condition to hear her. Brona strutted off, without the impending interaction, snatching up her horseshoe and dusted the phlegm off before leaving the couple to their scene of dolour.

Brona sauntered up the paven road along the rim of the park complex, evening was creeping over around the corner, the air crisp of chills and sap.
“M-miss lady.”
Brona's eyes twitched at that word, seeing a child in the corner of the streets growing desolate, squeezing himself underneath a ladder toward her, stumbling over cracks in the ground, and toppling at her feet, a cylinder of salt tumbling out of his pocket and crashing onto the pavement.
“M-miss, Please, I do-don't know where I am. I don't know where dad is, and I am scared,” he said. He looked older from afar, though could be… no more than six. He crawled up and buried his face into her garment, weeping. “P-please I do-don't k-know.”
Brona peered down at the boy, gaze lifting, trailing to the horseshoe in her palm. She raised the iron high.
The boy felt a tap on his shoulder, he peeked up.
“I'mma be straight, you shouldn't bury your face 'n the first passer-by you meet,” Brona hoisted the horseshoe to point across the street, “I’m less a people gal, though that man looks like he is searching for something too.” Across the street was indeed a man scrambling with several bags, looking in all directions, except theirs.
The boy sniffled, wiped on his arm and nodded. “T-thank y-you.”
Brona stood for a moment, as the boy turned towards the street. “Ey, I'a something else to a say,” the boy stopped, just as the lights turned, "if you keep your head to the ground, everything'll look like gray, keep that chin up.”
“Y-yeah, t-thanks hobo lady.” The kid said with a genuine smile, and went off to rejoined his family; and so the boy stepped out of Brona's life.

~ 1 ~

Brona twirled a horseshoe between her fingers on the way back, eyes glazing over their surroundings, the warm lights of amber and lime, the azure streets and cobalt sky. It took a few blocks of walking before she realized…
“Got no clue where'm going.” She peered around, scrutinizing the buildings and landmarks, though the more she looked the less she recognized. All the buildings were far from the gray towers she had passed through, rather, they all had their own tone and character, each one filled with just a touch of life. She saw it all in a new light. The spirit sighed with her arms slumping to her sides, and a handful of horseshoes dropping from her relaxed frame. She saw more worth and value in that which surrounded her, and because of it, had become completely lost.

~ 2 ~

The branches laid cragged in her back, buds of growing branches poking through her tatters. The leaves of the crown tree fondling into the sparse clothing and scraping to her skirt. Though, the stars were out above the park, the eyes of the universe peering through the blackness of space, with in her gazing, Brona added her own pair in admiring the visage.
“This is neat.”
A whip of thunder cracked in the distance. The twilight space eyes gradually smothered by dark clouds.
Brona sighed. “I'a got to snatch a paraepluie.”

~ ? ~

And so closes the lid on the purple tome of fables. The moist tapestry of the city below drying under the hint of morninglight, sweeping away clouds and storytellers alike.

The Fable Of Grey Perspectives

aFilthySmutWriter Septia

13 November 2020 at 16:57:12 MST

When every direction feels dark and grey, perhaps in once place to long you've stayed?
A cranky spirit, on a walk through town, is to find something of merit, and quite profound.

Proofreader for this story was Anonymous.

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(Character Quote: "Is this palce alwyas a' this many trees?" -13rona)

(Quick guide:

Upset stroll, finding new paths, parks, inflicting misfortune on random passersby, accidental vore, slug girl, trip.

After 1st: Finding the rusted lining of the silver cloud.

After 2nd: Epilogue, Relaxing in nature, without nature's consent. )

(Legend:

Cent: Short term for centimetre.
Deci: Short term for decimetre.
Chronicle: A series of stories conneted but not sequential. Ongoing stories without regular updates. Rapacitor: A predator who eats for the sake of greed and gluttony.)

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[Story preview:

With the hue of a neon peach-peel, the sky illuminated the afternoon streets. -Krrrssskkkrrssskrrsh- The scraping of metal writing on concrete heralded Brona's passage as she walkedbeside a building with a horseshoe slack to the brickwork, tracing two white streaks in the wake of the prongs. The flaps of her tattered attire fluttering in waves of cloth, while her hair rodethe wind. The scraping had started out as a mere impulse of vandalism, but continued for over a block now. Seeing that the misfortunate spirit had somewhere to return to for once, she preferred to get lost in the termite nest of gray buildings.
“Shoulda written down the address,” she mumbled. Brona peered up a streetlight, then the people below it, then their city; all of which melded into one another in hue and intrigue, both being equally low.
“Losers n' jerks,” she snorted. She kept walking, her rancor channeled in the weight she was putting onto the horseshoe guided into the rock as she advanced. -Rkkrrrtchcnk- Then slipped into nothing as the wall suddenly ended. Brona tumbled into the ally, her side slumping onto the cobblestone with her clothing trailing after in a hail of rugged strap. -Dmmpwth- She slumped to the ground with the emotional intrigue of a plastic bag. Remaining motionless for a moment.

Continued in the story above.]