Friday, February 6, 2015

Dragons and Dungeons | Frames of Existence (2)

Frames of Existence is a sporadic feature on Loving the Language of Literacy where I combine my two passions of photography and writing. The goal is to write 250 words relating back to the photo, whether it's an opening scene or character description. You might want to read Ordinary | Frames of Existence first before this post, but in no way do you have to read them in order. FYI: I was watching the Invasions of the Body Snatchers while composing this post, so forgive me for the eeriness.

It’s late.
Voicemails. People.
Texts. Connections.
Are abandoned.
In exchange for work.
I’m the only one left.
This is what my life has become.
Attempting to patch
The holes of my careless co-workers.
They say this is a man’s world.
I’m beginning to think they’re right.
All of that is forgotten
The moment I see her.
Thin wire, wrapped in glass.
A shadow.
Nothing is tangible.
Nothing... is there.

I laugh.
They don’t know how simple it is
To “escape”
Because this is only a room
Yet their spirits have already been
Grind. Pound. Pressure.
This was meant to challenge, to test
But our most promising subject
Has only experienced reluctance.
If only they knew
Being trapped is the least of their problems.
Because we have arrived.
It reminds me of a gavel.
Definite. Finite. Complete.
A wax seal on the sentence of my fate.
There’s nothing to do
But sit, surrounded by strangers.
We appeared, memoryless.
We can’t even wallow in our misery.
We can’t curl up in a dark corner
To fall apart from our bonds.
The room with no entrance is too bright.
All we can do is sit
To become emaciated walking skeletons
Or maybe we are already dead.

They remind me of a church.
Small comfort nowadays.
The world has been reduced 
To shadows and lies and flickers.
The old world is melting away.
As if the earth were a person
Who is drawing back his face.
All these years 

Life has been a facade?
A projection upon a wall.
Until it was blasted open
To reveal what is truly beyond.
The dust bites the air
Creating more and more of a haze
What little light remains
Even hope is attempting escape.

The cycle is broken.
The monotony vanquished.
Each day
He crept
Closer and Closer
To the divide.
His life dangled
Above his head.
Every drag flared
Thrusting color
Upon a grey-scale world.
Contact was made
Out of the experience 
Pain became one
He relished in it.
The only time he ever knew
Felt truth encompass his life
Combined with realism.
He reeled.
Deposited where he started.
Only to begin again.

I jumped. Surface to Surface. Web trailing between the folds.They appeared as carbon copies. Clones if you will. They are anything but. The Dead and the Dying.
The world does not end but few people gleam the knowledge. That treading water
Does not mean you drown.

Disclaimer: All images used in this post are 100% owned by me and were edited using Fotor and/or PicMonkey.

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