birth of a song, death of a dream.
in memory of...
I can't… hear any noise.
[as though plucked from a space within dreaming times, where the scarlet sky is void of the sun and the dark water is drained of life, the scene that unfolds from this particular device is an object of silent terror for whom the memory belongs to. it is, after all, a nightmare she's seen a time too many. alone the sad-eyed girl sits, atop a leaning article of classical ruin staked into flooded earth, overlooking a pitch black sea.]
[a ripple on the surface reveals a figure. by the buttons and stringy fray of odd-coloured hair, she recognizes the bo(d)y for what it's worth. (a corpse.)
she cannot hear a thing, yet she presses her hands against her ears. her heart beats faster, and the lightless ocean breaks apart as her deepest fear rises from the bottomless abyss.
before black and white nothingness, the end of the world exists in the blood-dried shade of red.
her jaw hangs open in a soundless scream.]
[darkness fades to light and here is another memory. judgment of its validity relies upon the viewer, but to the girl it is both clear as yesterday and helplessly far, far away under a different sky and over another world's soil.
the words are clear. this is his departure unedited--not that it matters anymore. it is inevitable. she can do nothing to change it. the same smile and the same words would be repeated; the bright, blinding gate would shatter and fall, and not a shard would manage to be salvaged. the fragments glitter and fade into the air, a curtain close before the embers of a new and fearful future could burn.
images that haunt, sounds that echo, feelings left scattered and on display like pawned jewelry. how cunning, atia, for solidifying ghosts.]
.
.
.
|
|
|
|
w
h
a
t
c
o
l
o
u
r
i
s
"
f
o
r
e
v
e
r
"
?