you're losing your gift, and it's plain to see {rook/rave}
Sept 26, 2023 15:35:15 GMT -5
Post by rook on Sept 26, 2023 15:35:15 GMT -5
holland
It's just you, alone again.
And the world spins on.
The weight of it is heavy on your eyelids; blackened by exhaustion and heavy with time.
The flickers of industry and starlight print long shadows of you over the old stone warehouses and crumbled alleys, whilst blinking streetlights cast irregular patterns on the cobblestones below, dying like the light pollution bleached stars above.
Your light footsteps mimic the rhythm of the late night district dwellers, joining their compliant cadence. Faceless and nameless, you are adrift in the ebb and flow of the city's relentless energy.
You must be everyone and no one, moving through the city's grasp like smoke. It's a delicate dance, avoiding the Peacekeepers who lurk too in the shadows like pale white sharks. Keep moving or die.
The red neon street lights bleed into the damp shiny pavements as you push deeper into the hive of the city center, the noise growing from a low hum into a more visceral cocktail of horns, machinery, and shouting. Here the concrete stretches far above you, reaching up to block out the sun, the warmth, the hope.
A man asks for change, you say you have none. Before you, an old fishwife sells a catch imported from Four, all laid out haphazardly on a bed of ice - fresh she says, but it's half rotten and has more interest from flies than customers. Beyond that, a man offering falsified documents to get out of the District - but you already know that it's no better anywhere else.
Do you think your father would be proud of you? Skulking around like a rat in the gutter, hiding to survive, playing the role of someone you're not. Girl from Two with the world at her feet. You spent all your life trying to be noticed, and now you're doing everything you can not to be.
The world spins on, and it will catch up with you, eventually.
