Extinctionism

Breathtaking, like cigarettes And whispered dusk.

Breathtaking, like cigarettes And whispered dusk.

The sweltering heat ripples around the sun-baked earth, browning grass wilting in the face of such a foe. The flowers of radiant yellow enjoy the overflow of light even as their neighbors fall. A collective sigh of relief is felt as the shadow of the largest tree encapsulates the embattled plants. A lake of lustrous cerulean lazes around, calm and smooth, with no worries until the winter, its shores a dazzling display of greens and yellows. The sunlight reflects outbound in every direction, a sea of scintillating stars, gone in an instant. This is where Faeries play.

The Wind is beauty. It is peace. It is freedom. It is happiness. There are different coloured Winds, in case you didn't know. Some are a mixture of yellow and blue that somehow doesn't make green. Some are a sharp blue, those that chill to the bone. Some are a lazy red which loves and hates you. My favourite are the slow moving orange Winds. They are those that are with me when i'm at my best and at my worst. Orange Winds follow me to the tops of quiet hills and sit with me when I'm alone. They chase after me when I'm on my bike and trust me even though I don't know where I'm going. They creep in through my window and hug me whilst I

Downtown New York June 28 2019 Atlas slumped into the first chair he saw when he arrived home. He was tired, although not because of the Bulletplane flight or the fight with that Nazi bastard, this was something else. He feared to sleep nowadays, because that was when he was most vulnerable. With a click of a remote, some music started playing, Gymnopédies No. 1. He loved this piece and had first heard it as a child. It reminded him of better times and, for some reason, snow. He decided to sleep anyway and, although he wasn't as skilled an Oneiromancer as he would like, he was proficient enough to defend himself. 4 hours later he woke

Games like this. Addicted to farewells.

Sunset blooms like a virgin rose

As the smoke cleared over the scorched bushland, and the pale gold of dawn struck chords through the pale smoke, the cheers of the firefighters could be heard throughout the valley.