 | purgajew |
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The playful threeve wanders. He does't know much, he has his name, a worn knapsack, and rudimentary english. If you asked him where his home was, he would say "here" as he pointed to his heart. If you asked him what his name meant, he would say, "it means me, threeve means me!" He squats four legged as he stares at the sun, his circular welding goggles protect his awed gaze. A red bandana keeps him from swallowing too much sand as he travels, but the dust on his face makes him feel safe, like he is never alone, even when he is alone. His hair is white, reminding an observing eye that at one time it was kept prim and proper, but now there is no hand that combs his hair. Sideburns disappear under the bandana, but when the red linen gets removed, it can be seen that the hair rings his whole face, as if light itself extended from his naive grin.
Perhaps the worst thing to do is get threeve angry, as the men in classic black suits and sunglasses know. Their dossier on threeve is expansive, but most of what they know threeve himself does not. In fact the only thing you could figure out about threeve from talking to him is that ,"threeve is threeve. Threeve is looking. As all are looking, threeve is looking, but threeve loves to look at the sky, that is where threeve look best." Only the blacksuits know what threeve can do, only they get to witness the tempest in the sands as they chase him. Only the ones chasing the lost child know what it is to fight earth itself. The strange black technology covering threeves hands, alive and singing as threeve commands terra as if they were his very own hands. Gravel, clay, obsidian all rise to his whims to protect little Zues from his father's fear. To gaze upon those stone hands, poised as if they were the very hands of judgment, is to understand the power of threeve. No blacksuit gets to tell his colleague what it is like, because all that stood before him were soon found to be wanting. The only warning they get is the bright yellow numbers printed on his blue jumpsuit. Three slash five, the numbers of his name.
Perhaps the worst thing to do is get threeve angry, as the men in classic black suits and sunglasses know. Their dossier on threeve is expansive, but most of what they know threeve himself does not. In fact the only thing you could figure out about threeve from talking to him is that ,"threeve is threeve. Threeve is looking. As all are looking, threeve is looking, but threeve loves to look at the sky, that is where threeve look best." Only the blacksuits know what threeve can do, only they get to witness the tempest in the sands as they chase him. Only the ones chasing the lost child know what it is to fight earth itself. The strange black technology covering threeves hands, alive and singing as threeve commands terra as if they were his very own hands. Gravel, clay, obsidian all rise to his whims to protect little Zues from his father's fear. To gaze upon those stone hands, poised as if they were the very hands of judgment, is to understand the power of threeve. No blacksuit gets to tell his colleague what it is like, because all that stood before him were soon found to be wanting. The only warning they get is the bright yellow numbers printed on his blue jumpsuit. Three slash five, the numbers of his name.