“In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood, like a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun.” -Madeline Miller, “The Song Of Achilles.”


Message to Readers

Ah shit, here we go again


July 8, 2019


I never really thought my death would be a group effort.

A group effort, not in the way that there was some larger than life assassination plot; my injuries were born in stone and that is where they’ll stay, but rather more in the fact that I died with others. Dancing on the edge of immortality until a bright blue hand of fate coaxed us over to the forgetful side, the side where the flowers bloom only to wither again. Although, I have this nagging feeling that it was rather relaxed in it’s shoving and I’ve fallen somewhere between dawn and dusk. 

We are not withering but we’re not growing to the point where we can embrace the sky. There’s no hot blood flowing, but it hasn’t been drained either. We’re stuck in a standstill and I’d complain and call it limbo only that the glares of my unfortunate companions glue my mouth shut.

And so, maybe I am stagnating only because Fate pushed us down and behind her couch cushion instead of sweeping us up into a golden cloud of her own design or sticking us in the less lustrous silver of those who only ever stood up as to sit back down again.


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  • July 8, 2019 - 7:23pm (Now Viewing)

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  • JadeAndSerpentine

    Totally agree with Ursa Rover; great work!

    over 1 year ago
  • Ursa

    This is so well done, the language is so beautiful. It feels like the musings of an ethereal being.

    over 1 year ago
  • jaii

    Wow. This is absolutely beautiful

    over 1 year ago