The Man In A Fitted Straw Hat
Posted: Sat Mar 16, 2013 10:15 pm
OOC: Just trying out a little prose and working off the writing rust. Enjoy!
It's a monochrome toned Sunday in the city as clouds gather for an oncoming storm. The streets are sparse of those who fear God's thunder, but the show of society rolls on... with public transportation being one of it's bit part players. But today, it's taken the role of a supporting actor... because on Bus No. 913-271... is the most important man in existence.
He sits on his lonesome, which doesn't say much, as the bus is empty, save for the driver. He rests comfortably with his fitted straw hat covers his eyes... his chin, tucked into his chest. You wouldn't know it by looking at him... but this man is more than aware of his surroundings as he raises a hand and pushes a button, signalling the bus driver that his next stop will be his final destination. The man in his fitted straw hat raises his head, and surveys the street as it passes him by. He knows these streets well... he IS these streets. He is those people that head for shelter as the rain begins to fall. He is the rain that falls too. He is everything... and everyone. And he smiles.
The bus pulls into it's destination as the man in the straw hat stands. Taking his first steps in what feel like hours, he looks to the bus driver in his rear view mirror, tipping his hat in thanks. With his feet on terra firma and the rain from the skies above beginning to soak him, the man removes his fitted straw hat and reaches his arms out to his sides. It felt good to let the rain cleanse him of the dirt of man... just for a moment... before returning his hat to it's resting place on his head. Walking forwards, his eyes resting upon his destination. A large building, much larger than those that surround it, at least in girth. He passes by the front door and heads around the side of the building... avoiding the lines of people that cue up to the front. Opening the side entrance, he enters and feels a wave of false machismo and arrogance wash over him... dirtying him once again. He wanders up to a group of relatively unimportant looking people and asks them in his most humble voice...
"Hey man, can any of you help me out? I'm looking for my room."
A young lady with a clipboard looks down and reads on a list.
"You're on the roster, right?"
"That I am, ma'am."
"Just take a left down that hall... take a right at the second turn and head to the end. You can't miss it."
"Thank ya kindly."
The man tips his fitted straw hat in thanks as he follows her directions. A left... a right at the second turn... he heads to the end of his journey. He didn't miss it. He arrives at a door... labeled "EBWF Locker Room."
This wouldn't do at all.
It's not that he doesn't love his fellow man... it's that his fellow man doesn't love him just yet. He turns around and takes a left... and takes another left, this time at the first turn. It's a door without a label. Fitting. Opening the door, the man in a fitted straw hat finds himself in an old utilities closet, filled with cleaning supplies, tools and dust. It's dark, it's secluded and it's all to himself. Perfect. The man in a fitted straw hat clears himself a space, takes a seat and rests his head on the wall behind him, closing his eyes in rest. Bray Wyatt has found his home.
It's a monochrome toned Sunday in the city as clouds gather for an oncoming storm. The streets are sparse of those who fear God's thunder, but the show of society rolls on... with public transportation being one of it's bit part players. But today, it's taken the role of a supporting actor... because on Bus No. 913-271... is the most important man in existence.
He sits on his lonesome, which doesn't say much, as the bus is empty, save for the driver. He rests comfortably with his fitted straw hat covers his eyes... his chin, tucked into his chest. You wouldn't know it by looking at him... but this man is more than aware of his surroundings as he raises a hand and pushes a button, signalling the bus driver that his next stop will be his final destination. The man in his fitted straw hat raises his head, and surveys the street as it passes him by. He knows these streets well... he IS these streets. He is those people that head for shelter as the rain begins to fall. He is the rain that falls too. He is everything... and everyone. And he smiles.
The bus pulls into it's destination as the man in the straw hat stands. Taking his first steps in what feel like hours, he looks to the bus driver in his rear view mirror, tipping his hat in thanks. With his feet on terra firma and the rain from the skies above beginning to soak him, the man removes his fitted straw hat and reaches his arms out to his sides. It felt good to let the rain cleanse him of the dirt of man... just for a moment... before returning his hat to it's resting place on his head. Walking forwards, his eyes resting upon his destination. A large building, much larger than those that surround it, at least in girth. He passes by the front door and heads around the side of the building... avoiding the lines of people that cue up to the front. Opening the side entrance, he enters and feels a wave of false machismo and arrogance wash over him... dirtying him once again. He wanders up to a group of relatively unimportant looking people and asks them in his most humble voice...
"Hey man, can any of you help me out? I'm looking for my room."
A young lady with a clipboard looks down and reads on a list.
"You're on the roster, right?"
"That I am, ma'am."
"Just take a left down that hall... take a right at the second turn and head to the end. You can't miss it."
"Thank ya kindly."
The man tips his fitted straw hat in thanks as he follows her directions. A left... a right at the second turn... he heads to the end of his journey. He didn't miss it. He arrives at a door... labeled "EBWF Locker Room."
This wouldn't do at all.
It's not that he doesn't love his fellow man... it's that his fellow man doesn't love him just yet. He turns around and takes a left... and takes another left, this time at the first turn. It's a door without a label. Fitting. Opening the door, the man in a fitted straw hat finds himself in an old utilities closet, filled with cleaning supplies, tools and dust. It's dark, it's secluded and it's all to himself. Perfect. The man in a fitted straw hat clears himself a space, takes a seat and rests his head on the wall behind him, closing his eyes in rest. Bray Wyatt has found his home.