BY indefiniteloop

“It feels as if it’s 6 feet deep, and the only thing left to do is to claw at that sticky mud above. That, to seek out even the slightest glimpse of the bright, bright Sun that has vanished, while taking the Moon with her. It feels wet, sticky, and cold. The eyes are shut; the Stars having forsaken them. There’s no sound, except for a distant whimper; echoing from somewhere deeper. Then there’s this overwhelming pressure, from up above that doesn’t want to let go; not in the slightest, not even an inch. The feet won’t move, but they’re are tingling with the anticipation of standing above their hold. The only things that are moving a couple of inches, clawing, digging, paining are the thumbs. We’re all like sore thumbs, trying to stick out of the ground.” -

About The Author:

Home Full Bio