From my HillA Chapter by Kenny Pomaski
I can't seem to get back into story writing. It feels like my imagination has died...
From my hill, I watch as the gray skies twist off into a great knot, leaving but a giant swirl of the once somber sky as nothing but a dot amidst the item-less white that now spans all around me. I look down and see the flower fields that span the bottom of my hill begin to wither, their white and yellow pedals dying, swept off in a final west wind that does not allow any real value; it stops, and the flowers dissapear.
The world is ending.
I turn back toward my home, and already the erosion has begun. A once beautiful ranch with milky white walls and shiny wooden floors appears now as nothing more than a shanty house, it’s wall’s crumbling, roof caving. I can see my things, my precious, secret things, now openly available for the cruel world to snicker and laugh at.
I feel more shame than fear as the world continues to end.
There is nothing I can do but move, but to where? I turn away from my house and begin to walk down my hill. I know, feel, everything behind me vanish and fade into the void of that redundant white, that shade of all things without value. I know that with every step forward I abandon another piece, another organ. But I can’t stop, not now.
I hope it is purgatory, and not the bottom of the well. Not yet.
As I step through my now colorless flower field, I look down for a moment, in search of a stem. I see none and look up, only to find myself face-to-face with the void. I stand upon the final rectangle of dead grass, just enough to stand on. I cannot turn back, and am scared to turn my head aside.
My world has ended very long ago, but I have not stepped off this final foothold yet. My legs are so tired, and I am very hungry.
I almost look forward to the day I faint.
© 2009 Kenny Pomaski
Added on August 31, 2009
365 Stories of No Purpose
AboutI'm a writer who wants nothing more then to be a writer. Name is Kenny Pomaski. I'm 20, and have been writing seriously for nearly five years (Though I've been writing stories my whole life). The b.. more..