chitter

A glass factory stretches far upward into the dark and turbulent sky. A barricade of bitter winter wind causes a sway, ominous like a tree in a storm. The screeching wind deafening and haunted urges all beings to stay inside for what is outside is unsanitary, unsavoury and no good...up to no damn good. There is a sense of unease in everything, a streetlamp struggles to stay lit, litter flies through the air and smashes into walls with frantic energy, signs falter in their roots; even the road wants to turn a different way. There is no traffic and few parked vehicles. No cats calling and no tramps slumped in alleyways. Any sign of life is imagined in the pleading architecture and the gravel that coils in fear as it's trodden upon. Not even the dirt wants to be here.

I am here because I am invited. Where people batten their windows and shiver under robes on wooden floors I will be. Where there is caffiene anxiety, nervous chatter and pestering preparation I am coming. I am a wreckless storm, black and dense and unstoppable. I am here to rip apart buildings, to scatter bodies and brick like hay in a barn. I would rip the core of the Earth out and spill magma into the mouths of every human given the power. A toast to the burning end of life and my cup runneth over. [My cup an eviscerated human carcass and my nectar the heart of the world.]

With the speed of the wind I entered this town, this dank brown crotch of AAAA. It was as though not a cell of oxygen had ever entered the place. The people walked as drones with their mouths stitched shut to savour whatever breath that remained in their paling bodies. For whatever reason they wished to prolong their muted lives, they would gather at the cafeteria and await whatever was served. Food was highly rationed and highly dangerous to consume. Deliveres were not made to the grocer, the butcher had no stock, there were no cows for milk or meat for thousands of miles around. Other options were made available and the feebling authority permitted any route as there would certainly be no outside aid. Did they really need all the talk in the first place? Conversation was detrimental to the workplace and restricting it would surely increase output, business would thrive.
Todays serving had gone off before it had been put in the lorry. What was left was ashen pennicillin which rotted cutlery on touch. Still the downtrodden mass gobbled it up quickly as they could and in the only way they could. Veins bulged instead of mouths salivating and cutlery was needles.
In this town people stopped wearing ties as they symbolised suicide, countless numbers were found hanging from their ties in empty rooms or hidden sections of the library. One had been left so long in an obscure corner or literature that even the books in the aisle began to decompose. Letters dripped to the floor and paper flooded onto the carpet.