Difference between revisions of "Mortus Frigus"
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''by H8nter'' | ''by H8nter'' | ||
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[[File:Mortus Frigus Logo.png]] | [[File:Mortus Frigus Logo.png]] | ||
| − | + | [[File:Mortus-Frigus-Wheatfield-with-Crows-Small-Dark-Border.gif]] | |
| − | + | <br><br> | |
| − | [[File:Mortus-Frigus-Wheatfield-with-Crows-Small.gif]]<br> | + | '''''"The Black Ink writes on me in words I do not wish to read.."''''' |
| − | ''"I | + | |
<br><br><br><br> | <br><br><br><br> | ||
| − | ''' | + | '''The Sun'''<br> |
| + | There comes a point in all our lives, where we realize we have a story to tell. Most of us usually do not think of our lives<br> | ||
| + | in a very spectacular way, we're just people, doing ordinary people-things.<br> | ||
| + | But we all have a story to tell.<br> | ||
| + | We all had those strange encounters, odd relationships and other peculiarities.<br> | ||
| + | After a period of time, we just learn to string together the proper narrative to the story of our lives, to define who we are;<br> | ||
| + | we are not quite sure in the beginning, not quite sure what we've accomplished.<br> | ||
| + | My story started in 1959,<br> | ||
| + | but it was not until 1984, that I truly learned who, or perhaps rather what, I was.<br> | ||
| + | I was born in Newfoundland, Canada, into what was a very God-fearing little family, consisting only of my beloved mother and I.<br> | ||
| + | My father had left before I was born, which had perhaps rightfully made her bitter.<br> | ||
| + | I quite often got very sick,<br> | ||
| + | back, when I was but a very young boy; my mother would make me pray to God for help.<br> | ||
| + | As I grew older, my immune system fortunately got better, but my dear mother began suffering much worse, with the devils in her head.<br> | ||
Latest revision as of 21:05, 23 August 2016
Reserved & W.I.P. by H8nter
"The Black Ink writes on me in words I do not wish to read.."
The Sun
There comes a point in all our lives, where we realize we have a story to tell. Most of us usually do not think of our lives
in a very spectacular way, we're just people, doing ordinary people-things.
But we all have a story to tell.
We all had those strange encounters, odd relationships and other peculiarities.
After a period of time, we just learn to string together the proper narrative to the story of our lives, to define who we are;
we are not quite sure in the beginning, not quite sure what we've accomplished.
My story started in 1959,
but it was not until 1984, that I truly learned who, or perhaps rather what, I was.
I was born in Newfoundland, Canada, into what was a very God-fearing little family, consisting only of my beloved mother and I.
My father had left before I was born, which had perhaps rightfully made her bitter.
I quite often got very sick,
back, when I was but a very young boy; my mother would make me pray to God for help.
