21 Apr 2017 - Prose 02: What Will It Be?
What will it be, what will it be?
The earth and sky and sea seemed to hum this query.
What will it be?
The Broken wanders aimlessly across the countryside, dried forbs crunching underfoot, polluting with darkness. Existence is pain; there are options, options, for relief. Animal, vegetable, mineral; the landscape pulses, whispering, half song, half threat.
What will it be? What will it be?
Blotted by vapour, the sun casts a sallow light. The Broken does not recognize this, mired in despair, plodding to a destination unknown and unattainable. Goal unreachable, forward motion continues, for what else is there but to keep going? There is no choice.
Tissue sloughs into earth, unnoticed, as footprints extend in a growing line to the proximally distant nothing. Gnarling, blackened flesh withers, the Broken trudges on.
Aeons pass. A bleached scaffold lies in the sun and dust, preceded by a long and winding line. There was no terminus.
What will it be, what will it be?
21 Apr 2017
The earth and sky and sea seemed to hum this query.
What will it be?
The Broken wanders aimlessly across the countryside, dried forbs crunching underfoot, polluting with darkness. Existence is pain; there are options, options, for relief. Animal, vegetable, mineral; the landscape pulses, whispering, half song, half threat.
What will it be? What will it be?
Blotted by vapour, the sun casts a sallow light. The Broken does not recognize this, mired in despair, plodding to a destination unknown and unattainable. Goal unreachable, forward motion continues, for what else is there but to keep going? There is no choice.
Tissue sloughs into earth, unnoticed, as footprints extend in a growing line to the proximally distant nothing. Gnarling, blackened flesh withers, the Broken trudges on.
Aeons pass. A bleached scaffold lies in the sun and dust, preceded by a long and winding line. There was no terminus.
What will it be, what will it be?
21 Apr 2017
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