the books were burning.
the sky glowed orange, masked by ominous plumes of black smoke and dancing embers. a towering pyre of doomed books sat in the town square, encased in fire. greedy flames licked at leather covers, well-loved book bindings, and musty pages, one after another, indifferent to thick tomes and thin novels. trails of ash floated lazily in too-warm breezes.
Dear ,
Greetings. This is the first time you shall hear from me, and the last.
He smirked, scanning the dark room for signs of life. Heartbeats earlier there had been the patter of feet. In the corner hung a picture, the frame glinting dully in a sliver of light. The image of a youthful lady, half obscured by shadows, stared out at him, willing him to leave.
But of course he wouldn’t.
Read morethe road stretches on endlessly.
to my right, pristine houses peek out from the rising slopes, nestled comfortably amidst lush foliage. to my left, the unbounded sea sparkles as if composed of millions of gems. as i walk, only the sounds of gently rustling leaves and meekly lapping waves accompany me. but there are no trilling birds, no rumbling cars, no yapping seals. behind the soothing melody of leaves and water is a hollow silence.
crunch. crunch. crunch. mechanically, i place one foot in front of the other, slowly trodding down the asphalt into forever. the breeze caresses my face, whispering into my ears as it flutters by.
who are you?
when i tune out the wind’s voice and strive to find something within the silence, i notice soft quick footsteps behind me. i stop, slowly turn. she stops as well, stares up at me. younger, definitely. but not by much. only a few inches shorter, perhaps a tad more slender. she looks familiar. i open my mouth, but find that i cannot speak. she waits patiently, waits for me to say something, but my voice is gone. we gaze at each other for a heartbeat, and for a fleeting moment i grasp who she is, but the thought slips away before i can catch it. i turn and continue walking.
as i stare ahead at the horizon, willing for the end to come, her image cracks, shatters into a thousand pieces before disintegrating and vanishing from my mind. a strange feeling in my fingers and toes cause me to look down. just like the memory, my fingers and toes are shattering, disintegrating. blowing away with the wind. i examine my fingers — now my palms are disappearing — and i realize that there is nothing inside of me. i am hollow. did she know? that girl — what did she look like again?
i turn back, searching for the girl in the distance. she is still standing where i left her, waiting for me. the breeze once more whispers in my cracking ears.
who are you?
my knees and elbows are gone now. i watch in apathetic interest as my torso begins to flake away. i am hollow, like pottery. then who is me? my chin is beginning to crack. i squint at the girl in the distance, willing myself to remember who she is. remember? i once knew her?
then she must be—
drip. drip. drip.
she opens her eyes to broken light and long shadows. blinking a few times to clear her vision, she glances around. the only company she has are a monotonous dripping and a cold stillness. gingerly, she rolls over onto her stomach to get a better look, but shuts her eyes tight as agony hits her like a wall. white light explodes behind her eyelids. a weak cry escapes her lips, and she grits her teeth.
time slid past her as she fought to maintain consciousness, perhaps slowly, perhaps quickly. when the stars stopped dancing, she carefully cracks her eyes open, squinting at her surroundings.
the color of the cabinets was mahogany in the dim lighting. she traces the lines of the cabinet door with her eyes, following it to the counter. the crisp white tiles appear to be stained black. she continues following the counter, coming across the sink. the same black stains cover the faucet as well, but the faucet isn’t dripping. then what is?
she carefully turns her head to survey the other half of what she takes to be her kitchen, however different it appears in the light. light falls unevenly on the table and the floor, illuminating bits and pieces of the room. something glints in a patch of light but is mostly obscured in darkness. she opens her eyes wider, but can’t make out the object. she considers standing up, but remembers the abyss of pain she just barely pulled out of. suddenly curious, she tries to turn her head to look at the rest of her body.
her clothes, once brand new, are tattered and completely black, the same black as the counter and the faucet. the fabric feels wet, as if someone has dunked it in black paint. there are strange lines crisscrossing her arms and legs. she turns back, staring intently at the object, willing herself to identify it. there is silver and red. silver and red. silver and red. glinting.
she resolves to return to the object later and resumes exploring the kitchen with her eyes. next to the mysterious object is the table. one ray of light falls across the table, but she can’t see what it reveals from her low angle. instead, another ray of light grazes a hulking mass slumped across the edge of the table. a black liquid is falling from the tablecloth.
drip. drip. drip.
something nags at her, telling her that she should be screaming, should be weeping, but her mouth won’t open and her eyes are dry. exhausted, she lays her head down on the ground, gazing at the dark scene before her without registering what she saw. shapes began to meld together into a menacing ghost. it licks its lips hungrily and advances toward where she lay,helpless. she wants to scream. she wants to stand up and run away, but her body no longer obeys her.
drip. drip. drip.
the monster is inches away — or is it miles away? her eyelids feel heavy. feebly, she resists the urge to sleep, but maybe if she just closed her eyes…
Listen here, listen here, before I fade to nothing.
She beckons, eyelids fluttering in a fight to keep her eyes open. The towering oak tree she leans against stretches in a great canopy above her. Intrigued, he draws closer, treading carefully on a lush green carpet of grass.
and i don’t feel like finishing this
good day
View high resolution
excuse me while i mess around with my tablet
holy crap this is terrible
cs2 / wacom intuos 3
say hello to my writer’s block (idea from moni158)
