ChristobelJoy
ESCALATION
This has gone too far. Too far.
Golf; a sport; a game; a pastime. Golf; does it make a difference?
Does anything make a difference? A sport, a song, a game, a frown, does any of it make a difference?
Really?
I don't know what they were thinking.
What were they thinking?
What were they thinking naming their child after an alcoholic drink?
Seriously, what were they thinking?
Did they think it would predict a happy and carefree life?
A life of celebration?
Because it didn't.
It didn't.
It didn't.
I am going on holidays, and will not be able to write for 10-12 days. If people cared to look at somebody else's pitiful musings, then perhaps I would hold you all in suspense for my future entries. But nobody really cares, so it will not be suspense at all, in fact.
The air is visibly tingling in front of me- vibrating, electric blue, waiting. It wants to lash out, swirl around what we are about to do. But- we can't. We are locked staring into one another's boiling red eyes.
Picture stars closer than ever before, some larger than life, some you've never seen before revealing themselves in the distance.
Picture space, in all it's glory.
I am sad to have missed the previous stimulus "piano", so will write two entries under space, one for each.
PIANO
A creak, barely audible, breaks the buzzing silence. A soft intake of breath; a fluttering of pages; the creaking of a pedal. Then- the silence breaks, dissipating in barely a second. Melodies, rich and full, flicker through the air, filling all available spaces but also rising, lifting, pulling you higher, floating underneath like a caressing cloud.
Footsteps leaving, time stands still.
A creak, barely audible.
When I am older, I may consider studying to become a lawyer. Before I did this, though, I may have to read into possible different paths. I still do not know if this is the right thing for me.
Ugh.t
A slick, shining rainbow shot down from the clouds reflects on its deceiving surface. It shines black underneath, true nature showing through, sitting atop the sea a foreboding cloud. It's tendrils snake to the world underneath, strangling, poisoning, destroying. The people try to clear it, but there's nothing they can do. The mistake has been made. It is irreversible. It is worse than anyway could imagine.
An oil spill.
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writing since 2016 · 26 entries · 21 days shown up
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wealthunderneatheverlastinganotherthinkingrisingfeelingliftsdooreyesredrunningpianobreakspowerrobots