dotism

Scaevity

Grasses wafting in the wind; all silenced, never known.

She had been sitting on the floor in the corner, facing the walls, minding her own mind. She carefully mended memories with needle and thread, patching the damage, suturing the heartbreaks which had been known to allow leaks of aches and pains into her days.

A bell sounded from somewhere far off, like an omnipresent demand, and she winced. The chime was low and hollow, a single peal which resonated slowly, deeply; its tone like a dark tar, melting into her, a thick heaviness like drowning.

Her pupils were like stars, not round, they unwound like a bobbin. They shrunk to pinpoints as the sun forced its way into the room; the white walls whimpering as they brightened. She shuddered within her shadow, then crawled towards the light to shutter it out.

September had become a neighbor, once more.