Jodainislame
They had split down the middle, a raging crowd as turbulent as the sea, only now heeding commands to heckle the one being paraded through. Guards with metal grasps held their chins high as if honor had befallen them.
Crimson haze lingered in the depression of land; verdant green turned sickening black with the disturbance of heavy boots. No one had any moxie left, nor did the metal cages entrusted in protecting them.
Our hands would burn, knees bleed, splinters plucked from tender skin. But none of it mattered, for it was a freedom unlike anything else.
Lounging amongst flowers we deemed our own globe, with hard plastic hats helping us to pretend, she would create fantastic stories and instill to me what was really important.
Streching over the vast canyon, whose bottom was unknown to the world, was where splintered wood and rusting metal met. They would groan in complaint of anyone who dare traverse.
The village children had all taken to a new routine - when the sun rose to wake them, they would scurry off into the woods to a cabin where the white witch lived. They would circle around a great wooden chair, waiting patiently for the witch to occupy it and teach them how to wield the most powerful magic - how to heal.
When the leaves shift colors and dance in the air, when a crisp breeze carries autumn through smiling crowds - bundled with warmth in hand - that's when I think back to the best day of our lives.
There was half a seat and no room for her feet, crammed into the car door with skin pressed against cold glass. Comical, really. She watched endless flat plains pass with a growing excitement in her chest that soon those plains would strech up to the heavens, towering over starlit cities and cradling the earth between each bosom.
Around him was a world he didn't know, wilds he was familiar with now manicured into something else. Everything felt off to him, like he couldn't hear the Mother's voice anymore.
She will wrap around your leg, most revolting in her slimy embrace, pull at your skin wanting every inch of it tasting the salt she bathes in. Though above the surface is where her siren song sings the loudest.
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