Post by Morgan Chase on Nov 24, 2008 14:52:17 GMT -5
((Ask?))
Occasionally, Morgan would have one of those rare moments where her feverish desire for a story would turn into a cold sweat of needing to breathe. This was one of those times. She wasn't under stress, threatened, sick, behind, or ahead in her stories. She simply was. She is Morgan, and that is how Morgan is. Impulsive. If it weren't for her impulsive nature and feeling detector, she would be half as good a reporter as she currently was.
Her impulsiveness and blunt attitude towards things got her the answers she needed for an excellent story, and she wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty. But, alas, there were still those times that every normal human goes through that stimulates the nerves to go into a reverent stillness, causing the impulsive need for some free time.
Morgan walked briskly to her favorite park in all of New York, and probably America; Pelham Bay Park. She had come here often when she needed to write in silence, and her father had taken her on trips to this park when she was very small. It was a sentimental place for her. She particularly enjoyed the thicket of weeping willows, where she and her father had carved the name "Chase" into one of the trunks. It had been she and her fathers secret place of serenity. Now, she enjoyed it alone.
She made her way to the thicket with purpose in her step, and a calm, 'I'm in love with life' air about her. She had chosen to dress up for the very reason of pretending her father was their with her, and the very affect the dark red dress had on her was a rose floating into an enchanted forest. She pulled her black shawl closer around her shoulders to keep out the crisp winter air. She had left her long blonde tresses undone and unkempt around her shoulders.
The sky was dark with snow clouds, and threatened to begin pouring the white dust down on the park - but that did not phase Morgan in the slightest. She needed her time in the thicket with her father. Even if he wasn't there.
She found herself at the very tree with the "Chase" carved into it, and felt herself smile. Suddenly, her smile turned to a grimace, which turned into a frown. She began to cry. She didn't know why she was crying. Perhaps because her father was not there, and it just wasn't the same anymore? Or perhaps she was just having one of those days? Sometimes life just catches up with you, and you don't know where the years have gone.
Morgan slammed her fists against the trunk, and then dropped to her knees at the base of it, sliding her hands down it as she went. Her hands got scratched from the bark, and she cried out "Ahow!"
She sat there for a moment, trying to figure out why she was there, and crying, and hurting, when someone touched her shoulder...
Occasionally, Morgan would have one of those rare moments where her feverish desire for a story would turn into a cold sweat of needing to breathe. This was one of those times. She wasn't under stress, threatened, sick, behind, or ahead in her stories. She simply was. She is Morgan, and that is how Morgan is. Impulsive. If it weren't for her impulsive nature and feeling detector, she would be half as good a reporter as she currently was.
Her impulsiveness and blunt attitude towards things got her the answers she needed for an excellent story, and she wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty. But, alas, there were still those times that every normal human goes through that stimulates the nerves to go into a reverent stillness, causing the impulsive need for some free time.
Morgan walked briskly to her favorite park in all of New York, and probably America; Pelham Bay Park. She had come here often when she needed to write in silence, and her father had taken her on trips to this park when she was very small. It was a sentimental place for her. She particularly enjoyed the thicket of weeping willows, where she and her father had carved the name "Chase" into one of the trunks. It had been she and her fathers secret place of serenity. Now, she enjoyed it alone.
She made her way to the thicket with purpose in her step, and a calm, 'I'm in love with life' air about her. She had chosen to dress up for the very reason of pretending her father was their with her, and the very affect the dark red dress had on her was a rose floating into an enchanted forest. She pulled her black shawl closer around her shoulders to keep out the crisp winter air. She had left her long blonde tresses undone and unkempt around her shoulders.
The sky was dark with snow clouds, and threatened to begin pouring the white dust down on the park - but that did not phase Morgan in the slightest. She needed her time in the thicket with her father. Even if he wasn't there.
She found herself at the very tree with the "Chase" carved into it, and felt herself smile. Suddenly, her smile turned to a grimace, which turned into a frown. She began to cry. She didn't know why she was crying. Perhaps because her father was not there, and it just wasn't the same anymore? Or perhaps she was just having one of those days? Sometimes life just catches up with you, and you don't know where the years have gone.
Morgan slammed her fists against the trunk, and then dropped to her knees at the base of it, sliding her hands down it as she went. Her hands got scratched from the bark, and she cried out "Ahow!"
She sat there for a moment, trying to figure out why she was there, and crying, and hurting, when someone touched her shoulder...
