Friday, August 10, 2007

Feathered Dew : Whistles

I tripped over the bodies in the dark to get to the side. A place where I can write. It's dark but I try using this small candle we're given every night to put it to good use.

I don't know anyone here. But we live together in this space.

A space where not a single thread of light from the outside comes through. A space where the sounds of breathing and coughing echoes throughout. A space where damp flooring was our bedding. A space where breathing was a chore.

We want to talk to each other. But there's nothing to talk about.

I place my bet that we're at least 50 feet underground.

My wings itch.

It should. Last time i had a bath was... well, about 3 weeks ago.

I gathered the damp blanket tighter around me.



I hear it again.

It's very faint. But when I close my eyes, fade out the noise from this room and leaned close to the stony walls, I can hear it.

I cupped my right ear closer to the cold ragged surface.


I shut my eyes tighter.




Invader Voobee said...

Wow that's really well written. Cant wait to find out more about the story!

Woohoo yay first non me entry. Come on people let's practice some creativity.

Anonymous said...

the elaboration of the space captivate me.....
u expand ur story greatly as u expand ur wings...;)