Adam (aodh) wrote,
Adam
aodh

  • Mood:
  • Music:

taste and experience every nuance.

I was on a bus.

Out the windows laid the sight of gray sands and sickly grasses. A deafening bellow came from the sky; the sun wept molten hot tears that sizzled and spit upon the ground, reaching our ears even over the thundering growl of the engine. We were soon enveloped by steam and fog.

A discordant chorus began to sing of sorrow and loss. "What are we doing here?" a lone, plaintive voice emerged from the dizzying cacophony, and the chorus faltered and faded.

I leaned back my head and closed my eyes. "I don't know," I murmured.
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