Against the dark night sky all Steve could see was the crumbling walls that were nothing more than a ghostly silhouette of some previous existence. The wind whistled through the trees bringing with it the laughter of children who once lived there and the caring call of a mother letting them know dinner was ready.
Vividly he could picture his childhood. The walls didn’t seem so grey when he was only a boy, nor did they seem so small. In his mind he pictured this place as though it were a castle where he and his brother were the Princes. His mother and father would glide through the once pristine halls, the King and Queen of their kingdom. He felt like no time had passed since he moved from this house, yet as he gazed upon the overgrown bushes and the shattered windows it was evident just how wrong he was.
Her face wasn't anything extraordinary or significant, and yet, he felt somehow magically draw to those serious and silent features. Though she always avoided his gaze, he couldn't help but notice her clean skin and lack of makeup, along with her always messy hairstyles. Perhaps many would consider her homely, but he found her awe-striking.
The postage stamp was not neatly in the top right-hand corner of the envelope, yet creatively positioned as if its landing place was an act of random joy. Eli could only suppose that it was Inka's first attempt at sending her own letter and he found himself smiling as he opened it.
There were no windows. Only--one, two--five seats; four lined up on the long side of the rectangular prism and one sitting opposite. The first noticeable thing was the utter lack of motion. It did not feel like any sort of future tech, it felt like the back of a truck. It was barren, smooth, it appeared as dirt brown walls in the lack of light, with sharp corners at the vertexes; but where was the motion? Those only objects within the box where the chairs, the only occupants were those sitting within them, and me; within the lonely chair.
The others were asleep. Three I knew: John, Dean, and Sam. The fourth I didn't, sitting to the far right. She was some young excitable girl, just kinda tagged along; I never knew her name. I sat there, harness pulled taught, in the groggy state that occurs after being woken from a deep sleep. I didn't have time to register any sort of fear or darker thoughts. I was still mystified at the lack of motion and the then growing presence of complete silence.
I loved to touch him - never in a sexual way, never anywhere other than his face, his hands, his obsidian hair that fell in tousled locks. His warmth would seep into my being and he comforted me without ever opening his mouth. I'd melt into him like ice-cream on a warm porcelain bowl, like I belonged next to him, like he belonged next to me. And each time before we parted the aching to be in his arms would begin anew.
To love yourself, finding time for relaxation, to calm the thoughts and live in the present moment, is also an act of loving those whom depend on you. Be careful to keep enough of yourself, to reserve it safely within, to have the courage to say, "No" to a world of greed that exploits people in the same callous way it takes from mother nature. In a world such as this, radical self care is part of not only surviving, but learning how to thrive and make new and better choices. Your heart and soul are worth keeping and guarding.
Once I’d reached the edge of the forest I stood in front of the tightly knit trees and stared deep into the darkness ahead as if begging permission to enter. Then I respectfully stepped into the massive realm of woodland, and from the first footfall the whole atmosphere changed. The ground was spongy, like walking on foam, and as I put my full weight down the earth seemed to hug my boots and gently release them with each step. Scent from the foliage, mixed with the dampness and decay, danced through the air and tickled my nostrils, and sprinkles of dew that were lying in wait leapt from their hosts to anoint me with weepy atoms, and cooled my face with their misty kisses.
Avery whispers into the breeze, her eyelids fluttering closed as she breathes in the briny aroma. Scrunching her toes, she feels the softness of the sand, still damp from the retreating tide. She wiggles as a shiver cascades down her spine and her eyes burst open.The sand blurs out in a blissful trance, the shore fading into liquid gold, vivid in the brilliant light. Her pale lips curve upward.
Avery bestows her gaze to the far off horizon, the flaring hues of the sun melting into the sky and ocean like a divine painting. The forever stretching sea is masked with an apricot colour, that beautiful umber flowing into turquoise. Through narrowed eyes she watches as each wave overlaps one another, sending the white bubbling crests descending, masking the shore with the transparent fading water.
Amelia wondered if there really was "conferring" going on in a conference call, because that implied that there would be actual listening and consideration of various perspectives. Could they really integrate new information and "live edit" their own brains or would they leave with the same bias and static opinions they entered with?