Suitable refuse. |
Nothing grows here anymore. Where blades of grass as tall as elephants once waltzed with cornstalks in warm sunset breezes, now lies unnatural decay. At one time there were angels here. Those stubborn feathered fools feasted upon these godless gifts of nature, consuming everything that their hallowed hands held. Killers of innocence, drowning in their own glut whilst hiding behind their charitable masks, how I loathe thee. Though supposed angels die too sometimes. Myopic masters punish their holy serfs when they touch what isn't permitted, so often is the touched punished worse. Curse them and their poison fingers. May their apathetic deity remove those wretched phalanges, lest they enact this plague upon flourishing land elsewhere. I know their penance shan't be so severe, it shall be repaid in hollow words and bowed heads. Perhaps I should enact vengeance, so I can subject them to the despair they've made mother Gaia suffer. What could I do though? I'll pay my dear djinn friend a visit, I'm sure she'll have something to use against them. My cold right palm rubs against the side of the golden lamp counterclockwise and I float upon a pink plume to the inside, where she stands tall. Her empyreal skin rubs against my face, blistering my tender cheeks instantly; I'm speechless although she knows why I'm there as she holds the knowledge of everything, everywhere. Majestic wind blows in from nowhere, cooling the djinn to something resembling mortality. She takes my hands in hers, our mouths meet, our eyes close in a wondrous mockery of passion and of life. We feel the changes taking hold within us, without us; our bodies reel backwards and we both grin as we know instinctively what has just taken place. At once, all existence outside of the lamp is gone, and there are only us two beings left alive. If we can even be considered alive now, as we eternally drift together amid this lonely sea of nothingness. |