Spider webs are often creative pieces that often glimmer in the sunlight, but it wasn't always that way. The moon holds secrets...
As I watch the rain on the webwork outside my window, I come to a startling conclusion. Today I am thankful for the tirelessness of spiders...
I came upon a shattered castle, a ruin of surpassing grace -- What was once clearly a building of great magnitude was now nothing more than a charnel house. The glassworks of the windows, however, still held their wonder. I long to hear the story these frozen wonders could tell.
You know, one thing I could never stand in this beautiful, magical forest? All the damn flies... and to make matters worse, they won't shut up about politics.
One thing I used to enjoy in my youth was Ol' Tom's stories around the campfire... The elders thought he was crazy, but I knew his stories told the truth about the outside world.
"Shyn'tia! 'urry up, gerl! Ey, dun hav much tyme lef. Wit ting you wanna know? Da gud noose or dey bahd noose? Cahn unly peck wohn." I heard a phantom clock ticking as the spirit of my Great Grandmother stood before me demanding that I request the information from an important aspect of my future... however, for some reason, I was only allowed to know a good or bad part of it. Why do these things always happen to me?
"Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect."
You have discovered what appears to be an ordinary room. But as soon as you enter the room, time stops for you. When you leave the room, time picks up right where you left off. What do you use this room for?
There's a knock on your door. Upon opening it, you find yourself facing a man dressed distinctly like Sherlock Holmes. He informs you that he is a detective and that you are a suspect in the disappearance of a person named John Watson. What happens next?
You're making your way down a cobbled street when a stocky, red-bearded man beckons you into an alley. He reaches into his coat, produces a locket on a long gold chain, and hands it to you. Upon opening the locket, you find a four-leaf clover pressed beneath a small glass pane. When you look up, the red-bearded man is gone. What happens next?
The zombies are chasing you; You're exhausted, but one last turn has shown you a closed alleyway... The end is growing closer when a section of reality opens up and you're pulled through the wall. What happens next?
Another morning where the gears are improperly working, a city automaton with a soul; "The marvel of the modern age" slowly degenerating. I hear the steady whirring in my head replaced lately, over recent years, with whirr clunk as something often comes to a near-complete stop and a steady, low-volume clicking that only I can hear, takes the place of finely-tuned music I once provided. I'm sure it'll one day drive me mad. As I remove my ocular plating so that I might work more carefully on my skull casing, a more recent morning ritual, the same whirring clicks provide questions in my M.I.N.D. "What happens next?"
The rain... it calls me. Since I was young, the pitter-patter of the rain on our tin roof seemed to hide a hidden voice only I could hear. -- Musical coercion to dance and play outside; a place that I've been forbidden to go as I'm taunted by the moonlight. Surely, the Shadow hasn't reached this far yet... the forest is still ablaze with color even at night. The nightly symphony of... Wait... why is it so quiet? When did that happen?
Eugh... I never feel comfortable in the light! Why couldn't I live in The Caves like my friend Sanni? No, I had to be chosen to lead the people to the next glory... and leaders had to leave the caves and live out here on the plains. No one had found new glories in years, but they're charging me, a child from a foreign land, to find the 7th glory. Why me?
Lately, I've been wondering what does it all mean to be who we are... We are the powerful. We are the technology barons. But we also are the destruction of this world... as we have been for so many before this... I know it's not considered proper to talk about this, but we must know who we are if we are to evolve beyond what we have become; A viral plague. We must once again be able to hang our heads low and bellow, "We are Saurid!"
"Damn these notes, they're never in tune!" "Yes, father... It's the notes that aren't in tune. It's never your microprocessors." "Back to your pit, Wantet... Stupid creature. I never should have cloned you." "Then who is the stupid one here? hmm?"
"Where are you? Where are you, Luriae?" Recently blinded by the latest food run by Administration equipment, I often had to rely on my companion more than ever before. "Luriae, I say!" The soft clicking of mandibles signaling her ready positioning. "Oh... there you are, my friend. Sleeping were you? I'm sorry to wake you. It's so lonely in the dark..." A soft chittering and a light pressure against my leg reassured me of its presence. Though as soft as the tone was a moment ago, a harsh tone burst from her maw. "Oh... great... What now?"
"So, we were off in the woods and found this cool shrine and wanted to take pictures if it... but something strange happened. It's probably nothing, but I felt odd there and I thought something told me to take a stone. So, I pocketed one of the cooler looking stones... Long-story shortened: the pics show the end of the world, the bathroom is a mess, and the stone was really an egg, so I have a new pet; not sure what it is, but I keep calling it Bowser. How's your day been?"
Do you ever walk through one of the hallways thinking something crazy is going to happen? Like every day, at 2 pm, I go enter this room like clockwork and there's my desk, my tools, and my workbox. It's dull, but it's reliable... Today, I opened it to a pink forest and the very air was music... and I miss my desk.
What if your mind spoke a different language than your voice did? How would that feel? What positives and negatives would it have what would it produce? What would you be labeled as? How would you communicate? Answer these questions and you may find a new story beyond the veil...
