#servusinferni

feel betterrrrr.

Hell bound sorrow,    a guilt that cannot quench its own thirst for retribution.    in a fiery pit saved for the seats of those who bear the crown of underdogs,    who will take the next spot on the pedestal of despair?                      Len had recently bought a disposable camera for himself so that he may take photographs of interesting looking flowers and other plantations of the sort. He believes that he is becoming much more weirder as the days go by, partaking in activities that are greatly unusual to his natural sense of character. He ought to be practicing the guitar, reciting the next lines to a song he must master, or lazing about while trying to beat his own high score on Project Diva F for his PSP. Instead, he is capturing a maximum of ten photos of nature, far off on the edges of town, into a rural foreground of moss, and swamp like landscapes that seethe fog and other murky like substances past withered and dead trees. Ah, what an odd looking oak, wouldn't he agree? It twists and twists, still retaining perfect emerald leaves. The roots that hold it down raise upwards like the legs of spiders while its bark traces the most deepest grooves one has ever seen. Len raises his camera up to his eye and takes a quick snap at it, a light flashing through the fog.                      When the film later develops out from the bottom of the camera he tugs on the photograph to get a look at how his aim turned out.