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how could i be so faithful to the queen of media?

Message from Writer

yknow i'd really like to call myself a creator, but really i just dig up some words sometimes, and do my best to string them all together.


July 11, 2018


I walked into an endless garden at the beginning of August. If you ask me now, I don’t know that I’d be able to tell you how or why I got there. I just did, my feet sinking naturally into the thick grass - it prickled a bit, blunt ends leftover from that morning’s mow sticking up between my toes and itching. Cicadas droned. The sun was hot and merciless, and sweat trickled down between my shoulder blades and eyebrows, leaving sticky trails that froze when a cold breeze shuffled over the garden. Normally this would’ve bothered me immensely, but not in August. I tread softly through the neatly-trimmed trees and carefully cultivated blooms. The birds all hushed in my wake. 

Deeper and deeper I walked, the cicadas growing louder and louder with each passing minute. Not a bird stirred. The endless hnnnnnnnnnnnnnn of those hidden insects swelled and rose, swelled and rose, swelled and rose. Heavy air pressed down on my lungs and made it hard to breathe. No one else was in there

The first suggestions of panic began to set in then. I sped up my pace, the prickly grass scratching at my feet in a futile attempt to slow me down. I couldn’t; the cicadas were roaring now. Sweat slicked the soles of my feet as I struggled for traction against the unhelpful grass. The ground dipped suddenly beneath my feet, and I shot my arms out instinctively to brace my fall as I tumbled down, down, down… 

I woke up. That was the end of August. 



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  • July 11, 2018 - 6:08pm (Now Viewing)

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