The coming of the machines is upon us; the tolling of the bell is nigh. Are we a barrier to its progress? Are we here to allow them through?
A separation resolved in absentia. There are no lines on the face of time.
An oppressive tension filled the corridors of the psyche. No one would be safe from the icy hand of self-doubt.
While I scrubbed pots and heated up baskets of bread in the subterranean kitchen, my partner was tasked with generally Cindarella-esque cleaning duties both above and below stairs.
We were each causing bigger and bigger ripples in our lives, and it was not going at all unnoticed.
Neon lights bled in to the rain, as the darkness cut past the artificial stone edifices. The first foot felt the water splash on its carapace, and knew that it was the first dawn.
Involuntary schemes; awash with the spite of a thousand millennia. Now I see the way I am heading, I’m fine.