bodyache

The shadows pulse and bloom, colors and behavior shadows never should have. The trees whisper, bend and lean closer, looking at this broken, stubborn thing limping past. Steam hisses where you step, drifting up your chest, into your mouth, slipping down your throat. The next time you exhale, a white cloud billows in front of your face, and the world sighs, and leaves you alone.

You had nothing for it, anyway.

the Rift
life from death

image

[ ACCEPTANCE NOTES: LUX ]

Hi :D