prometheus72
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Apr 1, 2009
- Messages
- 36
Isolation
He lives in a cabin, damp, deep in the maze of redwoods. A gentle rain falls, coming from another world, one beyond the suffocating foliage and the smell of earthy vanillas and long past stale morning dew. All contained perfectly within the ancient trees. No movement, no noise besides the slow, steady drip of collected water from the tree limbs. It is dark, misty. A lantern sits at the cabin’s window; a dry, golden jewel in the night. In this forgotten earth. He sits beside the lamp and gazes out into the forest, the forest looks back at Him in the same way an infertile mother looks at a sleeping child. He does not want to be seen, He longs to become a part of the forest, a part of this obscure entity. The forest could not welcome Him as one of its own. He had been planted in another world, and in that world His roots would stay no matter how strenuously He or the redwoods may try to break free from them. So on this night, like every other, He sits and waits for the forest to stop seeing the only being left to see. He sighs, the redwoods sigh back. The rain picks up, He blows out the flame in the lantern. The forest can forget about Him for now, this man trapped in a bubble. Lightning strikes in the distance, no thunder was heard. He veritably doesn’t care.
He lives in a cabin, damp, deep in the maze of redwoods. A gentle rain falls, coming from another world, one beyond the suffocating foliage and the smell of earthy vanillas and long past stale morning dew. All contained perfectly within the ancient trees. No movement, no noise besides the slow, steady drip of collected water from the tree limbs. It is dark, misty. A lantern sits at the cabin’s window; a dry, golden jewel in the night. In this forgotten earth. He sits beside the lamp and gazes out into the forest, the forest looks back at Him in the same way an infertile mother looks at a sleeping child. He does not want to be seen, He longs to become a part of the forest, a part of this obscure entity. The forest could not welcome Him as one of its own. He had been planted in another world, and in that world His roots would stay no matter how strenuously He or the redwoods may try to break free from them. So on this night, like every other, He sits and waits for the forest to stop seeing the only being left to see. He sighs, the redwoods sigh back. The rain picks up, He blows out the flame in the lantern. The forest can forget about Him for now, this man trapped in a bubble. Lightning strikes in the distance, no thunder was heard. He veritably doesn’t care.
