Etchings and Scribbles

It was lonely down here. My mind kept returning to that fact, despite the cacophony of other things my body was trying to tell me. Somewhere amidst my plummeting blood pressure and the pool of blood amassing beneath me were the remnants of my leg. I vaguely remember feeling the bones crunch and snap on the way down, bashing into a cliff face repeatedly will do that, I suppose. I’m fairly certain more than a few of my ribs were fractured as well, there might even be a gash on my head, I know I bounced a few times, and granite is anything but soft. In essence, my entire body was screaming at me while simultaneously dumping adrenaline into my bloodstream to try and keep me aware enough to do something about my situation. Laying prone, staring up at a speckled white slab of nature and a gentle pink sky, I wondered if there really was anything I could do about this. The reptilian part of my brain was screaming for me to do something, anything, to go hide in a corner and lick my wounds a...

Felston had always been a tinkerer. From his birth his parents had left him toys, and they were promptly torn apart, dissected, their inner workings (be they fluff or cogs) pulled out, set down, and cataloged. Indeed, he had always held a curiosity for how things functioned, and this curiosity developed into a passionate hobby. There were very few limits on what he would pull apart, especially if was something he'd never encountered. He learned his lesson though, that not all things should be torn apart immediately after he found a certain ticking box in his mother's closet. Traumatic memories aside, he knew from that day onward that he would be a doctor. Not the boring kind that doles out medicines and allays concerns over bumps and strange rashes, no no, a doctor of the sciences! Anatomies, chemistry, alchemy, machinery, histories, yes yes, all these things were mere systems that begged to be torn apart, cataloged, and then put back together (this was something he is stil...