 |
| Tim's Dreams - Romy Nayar |
Look, look. They are
coming.
All in black, a wave of
shadows, they are coming. Run, run. And who is who and who is what, forever an
agitation, a rush. It was time again, their hunger growing restlessly. They
came in through the vortex, a flow of darkness, a mass of fearful attempts to
strike back triggering a reaction of empowerment, that made them grow inside,
the what growing inside, the who getting lost, forgotten, shaken away.
Run, run. But they were too
fast, avid, raiding life, and forever hungry. Look. And no one looked at them.
They took everyone, the young, especially the young.
They would come back one
day, through the vortex again. There would be no one to tell the others, the
future others. So, an incomprehensible sense of lunacy, a total lack of
recollection, would point at the black wave of shadows once more and scream a
muted warning. They would struggle to survive, oblivious of the eminent and inevitable
loss of who they were, unaware of what they’d become.
No comments:
Post a Comment