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Talking to A WallI am done talking. I talk and talk and talk. And you walk, walk forward, walk backward, walk away, I am done talking. Everything I say just seems to disappear, go away, dissolve into the oblivion. The words are tangible to me, struggling to come out, once out, weighing heavily like lead in the air surrounding me, But for you I just talk and talk and talk, And you block out the words, Let them disappear, let them whistle into the wind, let them caress the likes of somebody else, While they melt through my brain, and seep out through my ears, nose, mouth, Scream to be heard, run down my face in liquid fTalking to A Wall
by ~Aloysia
no title yetMy world flared white-hot. Then it was dark. And silent. I was hyper-aware that I felt nothing. I was floating like a feather in the soundless, endless vacuum of deep space. All at once, pain exploded in my head. Sound and sensation came rushing back to me like a torrent of floodwaters from a broken dam. Like an L-train crashing through a deserted church. I cursed under my breath. What did I know about church? The last time I’d been, my grandparents had dragged me up to the choir and forced me to sing an impromptu solo.no title yet
by ~Aloysia
Banished Ch. 1The dawn broke cool and clear, the fog skating through the streets like a thick blanket, muting the morning movements of the early risers. The lethargic stiffness, the perpetual stuffiness, receded as the heat drew the fog onto the open waters of the port as an over-ripe fruit attracts flies. Protruding sharply from the soft coat of silence were mountains of white sails. A shoal of fishing boats, single-masted and broad-beamed, held out for an easterly wind, soporific sailors walking sluggishly across their decks. A customs boat was anchored securely at rest, its red sails and long oars ready.Banished Ch. 1
by ~Aloysia
BanishedIn the left ear, dilapidation whispers of opportunity and greatness; in the right, of delinquency and corruption.Banished
Decay is a sign of life. Cities with contented citizens do exist without derelict buildings, weed-strewn lots, and crumbling museums – but a great city must have them all.
Priampth was not a city that kept late hours: the majority of its inhabitants rose and set with the sun, preferring its bright warmth to the soft glow of an obscured moon. After nine, the streets were quiet and deserted; the rare dog sometimes snapped and snarled in shadowed alleys or howled down by the port,
by ~Aloysia
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