I feel this blackness come over me. Like a blanket, but not a blanket of warmth but a blanket of coldness making me shiver. But somehow it's making my eyes feel heavier and heavier. I finally close my eyes finally sending me into a dreamless sleep.
The monetary credit system was designed so that those who control it could grow rich at the expense of others. However, the emotional credit system evolved to maintain the emotional bonds we needed within a cooperative, empathic and helpful society. The first system pushes us down, the second system lifts us up.
The ash tray was stacked like some site of genocide; no loving species could do this to one another, selling these sticks of death for crude and selfish gains.
The nightclub was rainbow lights and the sort of beats that revved up the soul.
He watched the sunset at the horizon, spreading its largess into a grateful sky. Rich hues of red blended with oranges, purples, crimsons. Bob's spirit soared at the sight as he was transported into a timeless existence, ready for the protective blanket of night and new dreams.
Alice walked along the rough cobbled streets that caused her feet to ache. The buildings were tight together and loomed over her, like a forest of stone. When she looked up the roofs were so close together that she could only make out a sliver of the blue sky that was mirrored by the tiny stream of light that trickled along the cold stone ground. The alleyway twisted and turned back on itself, first going to the right, then to the left. From where Alice stood, whether she look in front or behind, she saw nothing but stone.
It is as if the sunshine opened a new book on this daybreak, the snow its bright page. Kitty stands there, toboggan in hand, smooth and gleaming, as if she dreamed it into reality.
A widowed wife. A mother of two. Living in a country of chaos. She lives in a scattered pile of concrete held together by fractured planks of wood. Trying to survive in a country that wants everyone dead. Seeking refuge in any broken, run-down house that is still standing. Living every moment of her life in constant fear of death for herself and her children.
Sarah's hair moved much as soft beach grass in the wind, back and forth, revealing and hiding the gold of her eyes.
He sighed and looked at her with those blue eyes touched by storm clouds. She had never seen any emotion in them other than contempt. But now they embraced the wind. A brief gust before returning to a calm sea.
In the late summer wind are the red flags of the poppy petals, a living masterpiece of nature. Though they grow unnoticed by so many, they are more to my eye than a monet or any artwork that brings their likeness in beautiful strokes of softest bristles.
Lightning lit the skies in brilliant streaks. Fog embraced every tree, every square centimetre of of ground. Thunder declared itself as some rock star upon the stage. Sheets of rain revived the grass, resounding and rippling without frontier.
Above, the houses on the hill survive in valley-echoed hail.
Emerald eruptions of green envelop countryside in a carpet of living nature. Towers and trees - once boundless and bare - now flourish with vines, victorious as they claim their valley.
Streams once sucked of their nourishing liquids are now bustle with aquatic activity. Ripples run freely, harbingers of joy. The river, slowly but surely, creates a new liberty, surging over the banks to create a space, carving and forming the new paradise.
There, among the regenerating giant, a boy sat gazing out as nature unfolds its hidden secret.