The "Freeola Customer Forum" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
I ran.
When there was nothing left, when no hope remained, I ran. To nowhere. I just ran.
Out of my chair, over my desk, through the isles of people, all so impure and corrupted that they take it for granted. Their laughing faces swirled past me, only able to smile because they can't see just how wrong their lives are. The teacher can't stop me, because he is only human like the rest of them, he's just further down the path.
I run into the wooden door, which swings open. If it did not swing, I would have gone through it.
Now left, down the corridor, disguised as somewhere you want to be with its pastel colours and fake identity. They flit by me as I run, merging like a garish kaleidoscope. Past the other doors, where more people are inside, learning how to make themselves richer in later life.
Into the locked red door that leads out onto the field. I crunch into it, and even the metal of the lock knows not to get in my way. Now onto a vast field of green, lit up by the sun in the sky. Dew soaks into my trainers, the trainers that advertise child slavery and exploitation. I run across the rugby pitch with the players striving for victory because of their testosterone and a tackle thuds in just behind me leaving blood and bruises and pride with it.
The white markings of the rugby pitch fade behind me as I near the end of the green expanse, and I go through the hedge because it knows not to stop me. Out onto the concrete road, grey as modern life. I see the car but keep running, because I can't stop and it should hit me but it doesn't. Rubber burns onto concrete, and I feel like the rubber standing out against the concrete world.
Down the street opposite, past the brick of suburban life, the place where people say they'll just live for a while but where end up trapped when their ideals of affluence collapse and they have to face mediocrity.
The bend curves a bit, like it wants to do something different but is too scared to go the whole way. I run, and I have reached the center of town where people are feeling guilty because they can't buy their children the latest toy that they don't need for anything but to fit in.
People are everywhere, but I run in a straight line and don't hit them, like the chance like prosperity once did to the same grey people. They are ugly, but that’s OK because the whole world is ugly and not one of them believes they can change that.
The shops blend in to each other, as the people do. I run past the church, scheduled for demolition soon, and out of the centre of the small town, onto a dirt track with puddles and mud and brown. My feet don't touch the puddles because I am on a higher plane than they are and I keep running and I keep running and the trees fly past and the mud splatters up and the insects are better than the people and I leave my skin and just become pure wind because I don't belong in this world.
When there was nothing left, when no hope remained, I ran. To nowhere. I just ran.
Out of my chair, over my desk, through the isles of people, all so impure and corrupted that they take it for granted. Their laughing faces swirled past me, only able to smile because they can't see just how wrong their lives are. The teacher can't stop me, because he is only human like the rest of them, he's just further down the path.
I run into the wooden door, which swings open. If it did not swing, I would have gone through it.
Now left, down the corridor, disguised as somewhere you want to be with its pastel colours and fake identity. They flit by me as I run, merging like a garish kaleidoscope. Past the other doors, where more people are inside, learning how to make themselves richer in later life.
Into the locked red door that leads out onto the field. I crunch into it, and even the metal of the lock knows not to get in my way. Now onto a vast field of green, lit up by the sun in the sky. Dew soaks into my trainers, the trainers that advertise child slavery and exploitation. I run across the rugby pitch with the players striving for victory because of their testosterone and a tackle thuds in just behind me leaving blood and bruises and pride with it.
The white markings of the rugby pitch fade behind me as I near the end of the green expanse, and I go through the hedge because it knows not to stop me. Out onto the concrete road, grey as modern life. I see the car but keep running, because I can't stop and it should hit me but it doesn't. Rubber burns onto concrete, and I feel like the rubber standing out against the concrete world.
Down the street opposite, past the brick of suburban life, the place where people say they'll just live for a while but where end up trapped when their ideals of affluence collapse and they have to face mediocrity.
The bend curves a bit, like it wants to do something different but is too scared to go the whole way. I run, and I have reached the center of town where people are feeling guilty because they can't buy their children the latest toy that they don't need for anything but to fit in.
People are everywhere, but I run in a straight line and don't hit them, like the chance like prosperity once did to the same grey people. They are ugly, but that’s OK because the whole world is ugly and not one of them believes they can change that.
The shops blend in to each other, as the people do. I run past the church, scheduled for demolition soon, and out of the centre of the small town, onto a dirt track with puddles and mud and brown. My feet don't touch the puddles because I am on a higher plane than they are and I keep running and I keep running and the trees fly past and the mud splatters up and the insects are better than the people and I leave my skin and just become pure wind because I don't belong in this world.
NIPA Section H
Click here for all the latest news and results for Section H Clubs
Click here for all the latest news and results for Section H Clubs
Wow, that was really good Mouldy. I liked the style and the descriptive language, keep 'em coming.
That was cool. Keep writing.
I ran.
When there was nothing left, when no hope remained, I ran. To nowhere. I just ran.
Out of my chair, over my desk, through the isles of people, all so impure and corrupted that they take it for granted. Their laughing faces swirled past me, only able to smile because they can't see just how wrong their lives are. The teacher can't stop me, because he is only human like the rest of them, he's just further down the path.
I run into the wooden door, which swings open. If it did not swing, I would have gone through it.
Now left, down the corridor, disguised as somewhere you want to be with its pastel colours and fake identity. They flit by me as I run, merging like a garish kaleidoscope. Past the other doors, where more people are inside, learning how to make themselves richer in later life.
Into the locked red door that leads out onto the field. I crunch into it, and even the metal of the lock knows not to get in my way. Now onto a vast field of green, lit up by the sun in the sky. Dew soaks into my trainers, the trainers that advertise child slavery and exploitation. I run across the rugby pitch with the players striving for victory because of their testosterone and a tackle thuds in just behind me leaving blood and bruises and pride with it.
The white markings of the rugby pitch fade behind me as I near the end of the green expanse, and I go through the hedge because it knows not to stop me. Out onto the concrete road, grey as modern life. I see the car but keep running, because I can't stop and it should hit me but it doesn't. Rubber burns onto concrete, and I feel like the rubber standing out against the concrete world.
Down the street opposite, past the brick of suburban life, the place where people say they'll just live for a while but where end up trapped when their ideals of affluence collapse and they have to face mediocrity.
The bend curves a bit, like it wants to do something different but is too scared to go the whole way. I run, and I have reached the center of town where people are feeling guilty because they can't buy their children the latest toy that they don't need for anything but to fit in.
People are everywhere, but I run in a straight line and don't hit them, like the chance like prosperity once did to the same grey people. They are ugly, but that’s OK because the whole world is ugly and not one of them believes they can change that.
The shops blend in to each other, as the people do. I run past the church, scheduled for demolition soon, and out of the centre of the small town, onto a dirt track with puddles and mud and brown. My feet don't touch the puddles because I am on a higher plane than they are and I keep running and I keep running and the trees fly past and the mud splatters up and the insects are better than the people and I leave my skin and just become pure wind because I don't belong in this world.
When there was nothing left, when no hope remained, I ran. To nowhere. I just ran.
Out of my chair, over my desk, through the isles of people, all so impure and corrupted that they take it for granted. Their laughing faces swirled past me, only able to smile because they can't see just how wrong their lives are. The teacher can't stop me, because he is only human like the rest of them, he's just further down the path.
I run into the wooden door, which swings open. If it did not swing, I would have gone through it.
Now left, down the corridor, disguised as somewhere you want to be with its pastel colours and fake identity. They flit by me as I run, merging like a garish kaleidoscope. Past the other doors, where more people are inside, learning how to make themselves richer in later life.
Into the locked red door that leads out onto the field. I crunch into it, and even the metal of the lock knows not to get in my way. Now onto a vast field of green, lit up by the sun in the sky. Dew soaks into my trainers, the trainers that advertise child slavery and exploitation. I run across the rugby pitch with the players striving for victory because of their testosterone and a tackle thuds in just behind me leaving blood and bruises and pride with it.
The white markings of the rugby pitch fade behind me as I near the end of the green expanse, and I go through the hedge because it knows not to stop me. Out onto the concrete road, grey as modern life. I see the car but keep running, because I can't stop and it should hit me but it doesn't. Rubber burns onto concrete, and I feel like the rubber standing out against the concrete world.
Down the street opposite, past the brick of suburban life, the place where people say they'll just live for a while but where end up trapped when their ideals of affluence collapse and they have to face mediocrity.
The bend curves a bit, like it wants to do something different but is too scared to go the whole way. I run, and I have reached the center of town where people are feeling guilty because they can't buy their children the latest toy that they don't need for anything but to fit in.
People are everywhere, but I run in a straight line and don't hit them, like the chance like prosperity once did to the same grey people. They are ugly, but that’s OK because the whole world is ugly and not one of them believes they can change that.
The shops blend in to each other, as the people do. I run past the church, scheduled for demolition soon, and out of the centre of the small town, onto a dirt track with puddles and mud and brown. My feet don't touch the puddles because I am on a higher plane than they are and I keep running and I keep running and the trees fly past and the mud splatters up and the insects are better than the people and I leave my skin and just become pure wind because I don't belong in this world.