Faile
Jul 18th, 2002, 06:26 PM
Here is where we shall begin. I have no idea of where we are going, but neither shall you, or indeed they. For this is about them.
Her eyes flashed open like so many thunder storms. Monday morning rain pelted the windows and her moods, emotions were created and reformed in the blinking of the sleep stained eye. But does this matter ? Does any beginning really matter ?
Eyes Close. Opening again, colour floods back across the room, but emotions cast a sepia taint across the view. This time she rises and struggles across the room. She casts a shadow across a grey carpet and sighs with a million curses. Reason doesn't change her reflection, dead eyes meeting porcelain reflections. Salvation is found with the hair brush.
'Welcome to Monday', the cherub blackbirds call.
'Welcome to Nowhere', the skies reply.
For this is nowhere, it always is at the beginning and why should this disprove the trend. For revolution has failed to change the cursed core of what is known. Eyes can close, the void may consume, but there is rarely change. This nowhere place is where we dream of life, beyond caustic work, sinful hobby or most latent dream. A world of what might be, perhaps could be, if we would but see it.
She left the house as normal, dressed in mourning, wrapped in apathy and made her way along the winding road, straight as a die but as loose as escaping death. Traffic passes by, the green of gardens battling the encroaching raptures of the modern. She walks from a room to a place. But today, the world may change. The only way to make it through each day is to believe that, she knows it well, but today the world may find its way to change, through the ether of time, the wonder of faith, and the death of apathy.
Her name is Ruby. She casts a shadow in the sunlight and is sometimes known to walk with a skip in her step in such cases. She lives alone and mainly within her head, causing problems with the world her body occupies. It is sometimes hard to find a way to lectures when avoiding the puddles that make up thought and the obtuse angles of the paths these thoughts walk. A mind born of frustration with the world but a mind born from desire, desire that defining moment be found, moments that change the way a person is, that shape the thought paths and change the winding lanes of resolution away from desolate nine through five working days. These can be found she assures herself, but also a part of her knows that these moments come at the price of security within the real world. She likes to close her two eyes and witness the daily death of the sunlight through velvet curtains, but this mainly leads to people finding reasons to be in another place, and great loneliness and detachment from the world. Peace will always come at a price, crying to sleep, longing for the touch of a human hand against her own, and this drives her further into a world of substance, away from the sprawling mess of humanity within this world of nothing.
But now it can be sensed that change is nearby. Maybe she cannot see it, but certain aspects are moving rapidly across the sky, lunar cycles are becoming complete. But who can ever notice ?
Her eyes flashed open like so many thunder storms. Monday morning rain pelted the windows and her moods, emotions were created and reformed in the blinking of the sleep stained eye. But does this matter ? Does any beginning really matter ?
Eyes Close. Opening again, colour floods back across the room, but emotions cast a sepia taint across the view. This time she rises and struggles across the room. She casts a shadow across a grey carpet and sighs with a million curses. Reason doesn't change her reflection, dead eyes meeting porcelain reflections. Salvation is found with the hair brush.
'Welcome to Monday', the cherub blackbirds call.
'Welcome to Nowhere', the skies reply.
For this is nowhere, it always is at the beginning and why should this disprove the trend. For revolution has failed to change the cursed core of what is known. Eyes can close, the void may consume, but there is rarely change. This nowhere place is where we dream of life, beyond caustic work, sinful hobby or most latent dream. A world of what might be, perhaps could be, if we would but see it.
She left the house as normal, dressed in mourning, wrapped in apathy and made her way along the winding road, straight as a die but as loose as escaping death. Traffic passes by, the green of gardens battling the encroaching raptures of the modern. She walks from a room to a place. But today, the world may change. The only way to make it through each day is to believe that, she knows it well, but today the world may find its way to change, through the ether of time, the wonder of faith, and the death of apathy.
Her name is Ruby. She casts a shadow in the sunlight and is sometimes known to walk with a skip in her step in such cases. She lives alone and mainly within her head, causing problems with the world her body occupies. It is sometimes hard to find a way to lectures when avoiding the puddles that make up thought and the obtuse angles of the paths these thoughts walk. A mind born of frustration with the world but a mind born from desire, desire that defining moment be found, moments that change the way a person is, that shape the thought paths and change the winding lanes of resolution away from desolate nine through five working days. These can be found she assures herself, but also a part of her knows that these moments come at the price of security within the real world. She likes to close her two eyes and witness the daily death of the sunlight through velvet curtains, but this mainly leads to people finding reasons to be in another place, and great loneliness and detachment from the world. Peace will always come at a price, crying to sleep, longing for the touch of a human hand against her own, and this drives her further into a world of substance, away from the sprawling mess of humanity within this world of nothing.
But now it can be sensed that change is nearby. Maybe she cannot see it, but certain aspects are moving rapidly across the sky, lunar cycles are becoming complete. But who can ever notice ?