Note Archive: #prose

Beaumont

I stand out upon the balcony, blistering darkness still permeating my vision. The morning air holds still, cold but gentle, as it whistles silently alongside my ear. My head pounds, weary from the night long gone. Flickering flashbacks roll along the skyline, like a broken television set in someone else’s dream. Somewhere behind, careful breaths pace the quiet brown study my mind has fallen pray to. In and out, in and out; a reminding shiver along an otherwise lonely spine.

Suddenly, through the distant valley, a sun ray cracks the dark void, scattering my loose illusions into dust. I stand still, filling my lungs with fresh morning dew. My eyes wander, watching the light rise and caress the desolate mountaintop before me.


Every so often, I become bored of texting the simple “hi, how are you?” to my friends. This is what Kaylea received some time ago. She told me I should be writing novels shortly after. I think she liked it.

Our Empty Vessels

An oldie, but ambiguous enough to still work. Written as the prelude to the Hypochondria of the Heart project.