Maybe we are all destined to meet our creators at the end.
Or maybe before that?
Maybe, with every heartbeat, we are all destined to die a little bit.
So what is left for the end?
Hollow shells, filled with pieces we stole from others, just like they stole from us...?
I choose to believe otherwise.
I believe we are filled with echoes of laughter from strangers we made laugh, filled with oceans we have swum in, tears we swallowed, kisses on friends' cheeks, and letters we have never sent.
So you see, in the end, we have already met our creators.
Everything and everyone taking our breath away are the ones who robbed and made us the most.
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Llion the Brave Version 2
Her screams diminished as Llion was dragged away from the cell. The stench in the corridor was less but there was still damp, decay, defecation, death. His feet dragged, like a raggedy puppet, the guard either side of him holding him fast. He could feel their individual fingers digging into his scant flesh, leaving their impression on his bones.
By Rachel Deeming6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Brilliant writing. So poignant!