Backstory

Working on telling backstory through description and using verbs within large descriptive passages to give a sense of movement and evade boredom.

Marcus Deprato slumped into his hand stitched cotton bedsheets, twirling a silver fountain pen between his index and middle finger as his eyes lost focus on the ceiling. From small blobs of blue tack hung twelve globes of different colours, textures and sizes, orbiting a large round paper lantern. His eyes swirled around the makeshift solar system and came to rest on a small sphere of woven purple sticks thay lay in the outer rim. He imagined himself to scale on the tiny purple planet; an imperceptible speck, lying on his little bed, looking at tiny balls hanging from his roof as a gargantuan interplanetary mosquito buzzed through the clouds. The mosquito hummed a loop the loop and spiralled away and out of Marcus' solar system, landing on a worn and dogeared copy of The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand.
Marcus twitched. Something was wrong. A disturbance in the force, if you will. He looked down at his feet and saw his big black Doc Martens imposing their leather will on his embroidered bedsheets. He took them off and threw them, one at a time, in a wide arc across his room and onto his couch. The second bounced off a silk cushion. His eyes narrowed. He despised that cushion and all of its friends.