Enigmatised
local, friendly, small shop on the corner of the street full of random, one-off knick-knacks and out of date goods. the shopkeeper is nobody special - a chubby, friendly, middle-aged man in a beard and grubby t-shirt. the local pub is dark and dimly lit, full of similar men drinking ale by the pint after a long day at work.
soon. it's just on the horizon. a bright, circular sun giving light to the world. soon, things will change. anticipate the future, for it will happen. soon, you could have what you desire today.
a cozy, warm place. you nestle yourself in the corner beside a three-legged wooden mahogany stool, old faded books in your lap with yellowing parchment pages, crisp as you turn them. there is but a sound. your feel made a pleasant sound as they walk on the wooden floor, but elsewise it is silent.
a box. square edges. sharp, pointed, harsh, unforgiving. they all fit together perfectly with no qualms or mishaps. they all look the same. square after square after another brick in the wall. nothing original. everything is the same. dull, unextraordinary.