The bleached walls, reflect nothing. Nothingness is everything.
The void, an abyss, limbo or a corridor. You choose.
A small figure perched behind a basic desk.
‘Are you on time?’
‘Join the line’
Stooped figures become prominent. Previously unseen, breaching the haze of nothingness.
Crooked shapes uninterested in anything other than the swipe of a thumb.
Nausea strikes amid the sea of nothingness.
The bleached walls penetrate a plethora of senses.
Is this hell?
Soaring on tattered wings. The ever-pulling currents of the landscape plucking at my feathers, landing to lie with my brainwashed brothers and sisters.
Crisp mountainous air pierces my lungs, the life-force of liberty. Solidarity provides vision of the hell below. The hell that is forever swamping, forever pulling. My tiny heart floods with pain as I watch my beloved companions enticed by shallow dreams.
Outstretched fingers under the guise of trees. Illusions of the changing seasons. All entailing false hope.
Entrapment and forbidden fruits all for the taking.
Careful my brothers, careful my sisters.
Protect your tattered wings.