wifeywife
Silos seem so innocent. A simple building full of the harvest. The skyscrapers of the country. But they have a darker secret. People meet their demise in them. Drowning,screaming, sinking into the crop, sucked in. And they die. Just like that. A life snuffed out.
Up here, everything is cold. The weather is cold, the buildings are cold, the people are cold. Holding doors, politeness, being called Miss and darlin' every where I went are thing I miss from the south. Up here, my soul grows cold, and I feel alone, I miss home. I want my Southern warmth back.
It's a haunting sort of call. Soft and sweet as it is, it holds a deadly promise. The song in her voice even now sends shivers down my spine. The fact that I'm this close to going to her, to doing as she asks, shows how lost I am without her. Even in death, she beckons me, and like always, I go to her.