Series of incoherent words slipped from Bullet's thin lips, he lethargically opened his eyes under the sunbeams sifting through the foliages. The blue haired gent positioned his back upon the integument of the tree dorsal to get a better panorama of the surroundings. He squinted his eyes, confusion etched onto his softly chiseled face for a few seconds.
Bullet stood up yet he almost fall forward, knuckles white against knees —eyes wide-blown, painted with surprise. The morning breeze seemed to strike across him to and fro as if intriguing him for a dance. He stood there, frozen at his spot; mouth agape and the whispers of the leaves mingle between placid breeze.
Perhaps, a drop of the once thick fog of the mornings had cascaded down onto one of the few murmurings leaves and had descended onto Bullet's cheeks. The teeny-bit sensation of morning dew awakened the lost senses of the vexed lad, he plopped down the grass and contemplated the scenario before him and yesterday.
"The bird has flown," Nonchalance grasps onto his visuals, along with a soft tilted smile. "yet it had gotten its fingers burned." With fingers against the necklace presented to him yesterday, he shook his head in some performance of disbelief. "The old wives' tale should've come into light before the sands ran out." Bullet tch-ed, tugging the necklace down and hid it inside his pockets.
Unexpectedly, a presence akin to gravity seemed to have arrived before him. Bullet filled his lungs with the morning breeze and straightened up. He composed himself, and smiled softly. "For another to knock about this place, must you be, perhaps, lost as I am?"
