May 05, 2011 12:37
[Thursday's shoes have scarcely disturbed the soil of Luceti since its most recent Shifts. Her accustomed jogs around the grounds have wound down. She has not found herself out at the fringes of the forest or stood staring down streams. Her name has not lingered either on the library's ledgers or its logs for countless days.
Her visits to the square for supplies have been rare, silent affairs. On such occasions she has sought paths of least resistance, slouching with the out-ward appearance of a zombie; her clothes clean save for the occasional flecks of vibrant and incongruous colour - otherwise creased and somehow pallid. Her sad eyes have been bagged though her face is always freshly scrubbed. Her brown hair washed but not brushed.
Today she has something to say: her voice, understated, makes its hesitant way over the airwaves;]
“People of Luceti.
If any of you find yourselves with enough free time today I'd like you to try describing something to me - something that you cherish. A place, perhaps, an object or a person. What does it look like? What does it feel like? Or something more - why does it appeal to you at all?
Thank you all.”
[And so saying, she sits and waits.]