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Her pupils would waver in and out of focus every once in a while. Deeply glaring past the object in front of her. Her eyes could no longer see. Whether she chose to or not, her vision was lost somewhere down the line. Now she just sits, fixated on nothing, no animation past the tears creeping down her face.
Sand draining from the hour glance in front of her. Every grain hitting the floor with a mighty crash. Time just stands still for her. Only the sound of sand trickling through the fingers of gravity telling her she was still there. Then that final grain would fall, and no more would pass, then she would grasp the glass; frail fingers clasping the web-laden object, tipping it to its opposite, then once again waiting.
Waiting for all to stop.
Water would drip atop the dusty table; worn knotted wood slowly bending and warping over time, ceiling malformed, grotesquely angled towards her, leering like a monster. The only noise that filled her ears was the creaking wood, water crashing to the ground, wind whistling, trying to talk to her.
But she wouldn't move. Not for anyone. Not for anything. She would just sit, wait for that final grain again, mumbling every time she had to lift her decrepit hand from her side.
love is eternal...
She would not die. She could never die. It hadn't ended. Radiant with black and blue, stale expression carved from stone, never breathing. Never breathing. She was but scenery now, a part of what the Earth was.
And she would mumble, and her eyes would waver, and table would grow ever more disfigured with her. Ever forever never ending.
But now you can hear her breaking. Her solitude slowly breaching through the pressure. The butterfly trapped within urging itself out. All I can do is watch, watch her as she waits for nothing to finally end.
But it's all right. Everything's fine now. You can come out.
He's gone now mum.
Hatch. Hatch.
Sand draining from the hour glance in front of her. Every grain hitting the floor with a mighty crash. Time just stands still for her. Only the sound of sand trickling through the fingers of gravity telling her she was still there. Then that final grain would fall, and no more would pass, then she would grasp the glass; frail fingers clasping the web-laden object, tipping it to its opposite, then once again waiting.
Waiting for all to stop.
Water would drip atop the dusty table; worn knotted wood slowly bending and warping over time, ceiling malformed, grotesquely angled towards her, leering like a monster. The only noise that filled her ears was the creaking wood, water crashing to the ground, wind whistling, trying to talk to her.
But she wouldn't move. Not for anyone. Not for anything. She would just sit, wait for that final grain again, mumbling every time she had to lift her decrepit hand from her side.
love is eternal...
She would not die. She could never die. It hadn't ended. Radiant with black and blue, stale expression carved from stone, never breathing. Never breathing. She was but scenery now, a part of what the Earth was.
And she would mumble, and her eyes would waver, and table would grow ever more disfigured with her. Ever forever never ending.
But now you can hear her breaking. Her solitude slowly breaching through the pressure. The butterfly trapped within urging itself out. All I can do is watch, watch her as she waits for nothing to finally end.
But it's all right. Everything's fine now. You can come out.
He's gone now mum.
Hatch. Hatch.
I really liked the opening. Not sure if it was your greatest but it flowed excellenty and it was a nice read.
It was an interesting piece, and well written too, but it left me a little confused - well, it was the last couple of lines that threw me.
A cocoon of life stopping sorrow?
That was how I read it anyway and t'was beautifully written
That was how I read it anyway and t'was beautifully written
I liked that a lot, you're one of my favorties, Rick - but there seemed something (something so wonderfully unhelpfully inexplicable) missing.
Now that would usually cause me to throw it out the window - but you write so well, I still enjoyed it.
Now that would usually cause me to throw it out the window - but you write so well, I still enjoyed it.
Yeah, I'm on autopilot at the moment. Cheers for the comments.
It was good, don't get me wrong, but now everything you write seems to take the same course. It's nice to read, but becoming something of an unbroken habit.
It still had wonderful describing words. It still had a few pinpoint sentences. And it was still class. I just feel the variation of your writing needs to be pushed a little further.
It still had wonderful describing words. It still had a few pinpoint sentences. And it was still class. I just feel the variation of your writing needs to be pushed a little further.
I dont think I "got" it, in that I have little to no idea what actually happened, though it gave me some nice visual images. I really did like the line:
Rickoss wrote:
> Ever forever never ending.
That was superb rhyme and alliteration of "ever".
Go you!
Rickoss wrote:
> Ever forever never ending.
That was superb rhyme and alliteration of "ever".
Go you!
Bah, sorry about that, really struggled this time around. :-\
At least it's short. :-P
At least it's short. :-P
Her pupils would waver in and out of focus every once in a while. Deeply glaring past the object in front of her. Her eyes could no longer see. Whether she chose to or not, her vision was lost somewhere down the line. Now she just sits, fixated on nothing, no animation past the tears creeping down her face.
Sand draining from the hour glance in front of her. Every grain hitting the floor with a mighty crash. Time just stands still for her. Only the sound of sand trickling through the fingers of gravity telling her she was still there. Then that final grain would fall, and no more would pass, then she would grasp the glass; frail fingers clasping the web-laden object, tipping it to its opposite, then once again waiting.
Waiting for all to stop.
Water would drip atop the dusty table; worn knotted wood slowly bending and warping over time, ceiling malformed, grotesquely angled towards her, leering like a monster. The only noise that filled her ears was the creaking wood, water crashing to the ground, wind whistling, trying to talk to her.
But she wouldn't move. Not for anyone. Not for anything. She would just sit, wait for that final grain again, mumbling every time she had to lift her decrepit hand from her side.
love is eternal...
She would not die. She could never die. It hadn't ended. Radiant with black and blue, stale expression carved from stone, never breathing. Never breathing. She was but scenery now, a part of what the Earth was.
And she would mumble, and her eyes would waver, and table would grow ever more disfigured with her. Ever forever never ending.
But now you can hear her breaking. Her solitude slowly breaching through the pressure. The butterfly trapped within urging itself out. All I can do is watch, watch her as she waits for nothing to finally end.
But it's all right. Everything's fine now. You can come out.
He's gone now mum.
Hatch. Hatch.
Sand draining from the hour glance in front of her. Every grain hitting the floor with a mighty crash. Time just stands still for her. Only the sound of sand trickling through the fingers of gravity telling her she was still there. Then that final grain would fall, and no more would pass, then she would grasp the glass; frail fingers clasping the web-laden object, tipping it to its opposite, then once again waiting.
Waiting for all to stop.
Water would drip atop the dusty table; worn knotted wood slowly bending and warping over time, ceiling malformed, grotesquely angled towards her, leering like a monster. The only noise that filled her ears was the creaking wood, water crashing to the ground, wind whistling, trying to talk to her.
But she wouldn't move. Not for anyone. Not for anything. She would just sit, wait for that final grain again, mumbling every time she had to lift her decrepit hand from her side.
love is eternal...
She would not die. She could never die. It hadn't ended. Radiant with black and blue, stale expression carved from stone, never breathing. Never breathing. She was but scenery now, a part of what the Earth was.
And she would mumble, and her eyes would waver, and table would grow ever more disfigured with her. Ever forever never ending.
But now you can hear her breaking. Her solitude slowly breaching through the pressure. The butterfly trapped within urging itself out. All I can do is watch, watch her as she waits for nothing to finally end.
But it's all right. Everything's fine now. You can come out.
He's gone now mum.
Hatch. Hatch.