DeadVanitan

The Coat Upon the grey pavement, laid under grimy waters, continuously stammered by relentless crystalline rain drops, below the street light, walked a pitch coat mounted on a lank figure whose shadow loomed over the many busy pedestrians crossing the roads. The shady character reached into the coat to pull out an aging watch, with straps torn, ruined, the silver skin dulling, dying, and the mechanisms twitching, failing. The hands pointed 34 minutes past 9 o'clock; it would have been a sanguine morning if it had not been for the monotonous downcast. The figure returned the watch into the coat's pouch. A drenched note suddenly leaped out of

Summer's Dream With the day that marked the beginning of summer. Without a vision for the days that were to ensue. No hopes, no wishes and no desires, only an empty bay. A bay with a stormy shore, with obsidian clouds above. By an ocean of fazed fishes that school without purpose. Waves that remained all but loud and clear. A dream came upon me before the storm. Vivid as it was, beautiful to behold and truly dreamful. A desire as it had been before, warm to see it be. Never had I once been so full of joy, so livid. Her face had never been so joyous a sight as then. I questioned reality, but was so full to even approach the answer.