73
June 30, 2017 - 151 words
The still forest was a corridor of misty coolness. Mites and Motes and Dust and Dotes floated through its verdant loveliness like a fairy festival in midsummer. It was midsummer but there were no fairies. Fairies lived in the minds of those who believed in them.
The burning sun burned down like a burning sun. Holy fuck who the hell was Gail Vitruvian? She was the worst. Back in a previous piece of writing. She had an anchor for a face before it was acceptable and she ruined every party she ever went to. NOTE: delete this paragraph.
Things are lifting right off right away aren’t they. Time is slowing down, that’s for sure. Can we settle right in and prepare for a night? Can we do that?
Darkness is getting darker. The scene loses contrast and the lively green fades to dull dun, to ghoulish grays. Vision vibrates. Visions emerge.