The trees on the clifftop swayed in the breeze, their leaves falling to the water below. The rest of the world was silent, locked away in a box that spiralled around an infinite number of identical boxes in the plughole of a kitchen sink.
It was night now and the trees still moved slightly,
dropping their leaves into the water. The moon shone through a hole in the box
lid and its light hit the trees, casting their shadows onto the water.
A figure approached the trees slowly, looking around, lost
and more than a little confused. It had been not long ago that they’d been in a
box with other people, people they’d known for decades. Now… silence, strange
noises came down from the sky or rumbled through the walls at the edge of the
world yes but…
The box was, in a way, suffocating, more than before, more
than any other box. Anxious boxes all around, some boxes absorbing one another,
building bigger and bigger, islands becoming continents and continents worlds
as big as the void outside itself.
Anxious worlds all as well, not knowing themselves in their lost
beauty, did they have beauty? The way back is gone always, don’t want to find it,
but the way forward can’t be found either. Stumbling is the only real option,
the only sane option. Till stumbling into another, many another’s, just as
anxious, maybe…
No comments:
Post a Comment