He said he was a collector. I wanted to ask if he collected bones, because actually my bones needed some new minerals, a new kind of magic inside. But I knew he wouldn't take the joke, so I replied that I was a creator. The dialogue ended with a never-ending loop of beginnings and ends, amidst a magical sky, shades of blue, and dark trees. Laughter echoed from people passing by on bicycles. I sat in the darkest corner of the garden, the silence of night enveloping me. I no longer recognized humans from non-humans, nor did I carry any more hope. Life is too short to give another person another chance or hope.
About the Creator
Lightness
Alien
writing in the moment
channels: https://www.youtube.com/@Healingestures
For HSP mainly : patreon.com/healingawakening
Lightning Never Strikes Twice
The distant rumble, the sudden deluge, the crescendo of sound, the flash of light, the explosive energy — it never gets old. I became an amateur storm chaser about two years ago. My wife, Cindy suggested it. Sort of. She said, "Alex, you know this cancer is killing me. I've come to terms with that, but you're smothering me. Go join a band, write a book, or become a storm chaser, for all I care. I love you, but you need a hobby."
By Julie Lacksonen5 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.