Dead memories

20. april 2017 at 17:43 | Gréti |  The longer than short ones
Wherever I turn, a silent smiling corpse grins, piercing me with hollow holes eyes have left behind, and things of unspeakable shapes crouch silently on bigger rocks leaking from the steep cliff. No more do the corpses say than wind whispers in their ears and escapes their wide open jaws as whistle. No more do they think of than the worms filling in their skulls. No more will they ever speak of sorrow… relaxed in unison, spread on the rocks and sand like marmalade on bread. And the figures high up in the dusky air sway their feeble bodies, creaking.
Low tide had uncovered their graves, it´s gentle fingers sweeping the sand away with perfect precision. It is not the first time this sea had feasted on memories. Half-digested by it, their faces faded paint on a wall, their skin mere remnant of colour; they rise from the dead, now ready to move on. I wait for them to vanish.
But the beasts above wait, too. Something is missing, they know. They smell the blood, a shard, a remain weeps in my clenched fist. A pink bubble sobs down below my feet to which the creatures descend. About bloody time.

20th March 2017

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1 WaclawY WaclawY | Email | Web | 29. april 2017 at 15:42 | React

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