Post by Geist on May 14, 2007 11:32:33 GMT -5
In a few hours the darkness of night would finally close its fist over the city, leaving the inhabitants to their own nighttime devices. Most would take to their beds, be it in their homes of comfort, or the remnants of old boxes, while some would remain awake to enjoy the peace that fell at twilight. Amongst those that continued their activities was the 'ghost of Hangman's graveyard.'
Geist, aptly named now it seemed, fit into his title as resident haunt of the public cemetery almost perfectly. A hound of the most pure of whites, with not a single pigment to his skin, not even his nose, which was actually a very faded pinkish brown in color, the Boxer had claimed the cemetery as his home a little over a year ago. It was not because of his ghostly appearance, but because of the rather sudden removal of his entire family, and their placement here, within the wrought iron fences of the graveyard.
There had been a terrible accident, just a little over a year ago, when the family had decided to take a vacation. The wreck was a nasty one, including not only the family's car, but three others as well. Geist's entire family had been killed, along with several of the other two-leggers involved. Geist had been fortunate, to escape with his life, though he left behind both his right ear, and his right hind leg. But what struck the young Boxer most deeply, was the fact that he had lost Elizabeth too, his little girl.
Elizabeth had been six years old then, hardly a chance for her to begin living the life she deserved, but the time she had had was spent in Geist's company. Always. The two were absolutely inseparable. Geist could still hear her laughter amongst her friends' giggles while they hung off him and let him carry them about the house. Those had been good times. But they were gone now, more of a ghost than Geist was himself.
The now five-year-old Boxer stood at the gates of his cemetery, his home, eerie gray eyes staring out at the skyline, where blues faded into purples and purples faded into black. The mist was beginning to settle in his little valley, creating a somewhat creepy shimmer about him as the last remnants of light reflected off his pale coat. It was because of this that he had earned his title as 'ghost.' That, and his near complete silence; not even his ungainly three-legged gait made a sound as he traveled through his forest of old eroded stones.
For now, he was alone in his little silent world of mist and stone. But as always, the boxer kept an open eye, and an open gate to any of those who wished to find a place of shelter. It was in a sense his land, yes, but he was more than willing to share. And in truth, it truly did get lonely sometimes. Even for a ghost.
Geist, aptly named now it seemed, fit into his title as resident haunt of the public cemetery almost perfectly. A hound of the most pure of whites, with not a single pigment to his skin, not even his nose, which was actually a very faded pinkish brown in color, the Boxer had claimed the cemetery as his home a little over a year ago. It was not because of his ghostly appearance, but because of the rather sudden removal of his entire family, and their placement here, within the wrought iron fences of the graveyard.
There had been a terrible accident, just a little over a year ago, when the family had decided to take a vacation. The wreck was a nasty one, including not only the family's car, but three others as well. Geist's entire family had been killed, along with several of the other two-leggers involved. Geist had been fortunate, to escape with his life, though he left behind both his right ear, and his right hind leg. But what struck the young Boxer most deeply, was the fact that he had lost Elizabeth too, his little girl.
Elizabeth had been six years old then, hardly a chance for her to begin living the life she deserved, but the time she had had was spent in Geist's company. Always. The two were absolutely inseparable. Geist could still hear her laughter amongst her friends' giggles while they hung off him and let him carry them about the house. Those had been good times. But they were gone now, more of a ghost than Geist was himself.
The now five-year-old Boxer stood at the gates of his cemetery, his home, eerie gray eyes staring out at the skyline, where blues faded into purples and purples faded into black. The mist was beginning to settle in his little valley, creating a somewhat creepy shimmer about him as the last remnants of light reflected off his pale coat. It was because of this that he had earned his title as 'ghost.' That, and his near complete silence; not even his ungainly three-legged gait made a sound as he traveled through his forest of old eroded stones.
For now, he was alone in his little silent world of mist and stone. But as always, the boxer kept an open eye, and an open gate to any of those who wished to find a place of shelter. It was in a sense his land, yes, but he was more than willing to share. And in truth, it truly did get lonely sometimes. Even for a ghost.