PW:Abash That Unsettling Megalomaniac of a Cliff
From Create Your Own Story
This cliff and sore tyrant torments the air and sends all that try to stand next to it tripping downwards and in directions across the thin, diminutive platform of grey dead seeds and what will never be. You choose to be; you will combat this cliff, as you discussed in your commentary. You are cautious about the absolute agency of the incline as a magnificent fly-swat; up it teeters, up you teeter with whatever flecks of confidence you can pluck that emanate in space, whatever dopamine can amass to a more jovial feeling.
A floor of molten clusters beneath you expresses the level, and abasement is exuded from it. You have a severe longing to keep it like this, yet what you are intent on practising enjoys a different warmth that's bound to gravity. They slide inwards and you must go upwards on this piscine ladder whose jowls yet remain floating and jovial
A slight tremble is let out by your foot as you approach your goal. Your forehead is wintry for some reason: you reach out to investigate the agent of all this: it is aqua. It dries on with a pungency of detergent from your fortunate modernity; it condenses and crackles like salt upon the small orifices between your follicles and you gaze up at it; the height of the cliff paralyzing you.
You can only sense your head; even the truth of your head has stopped appearing in time. You force into your mind many impressions of dexterity; you give a nimbus above the attempts of climbing. Feeling free now, you dictate that it should be up you go, up a place that will give you the salubrious sanctuary you infinitely crave.
A hand outplayed on the rock allows you to climb, your muscles quake with hot, rushing life-force; it burls at the requirement of strength. It's as if your muscles are melting into plasma as they shiver and feel unprecedented burdens that speak merely of downward things: dogmatic, fearful and drowning noumenon. You respire life-force as relentless consumption like a beached fish, you carry on. You feel a second peg in a moment, and that moment wraps around a coil which makes it last nearer to an eternity. Redness splashes around inside of you; heat cascades to your mind and you feel caught in a trap of burning.
Finally: you achieve this magnificent height, yet you lean flaccidly on the ground and blink. Your stomach stings with the insatiable pulse of gravity. You are dragged down towards a lucid cogency, however, that appears to be of a cryogenic literacy. You blink again, and the blurry outline of letters melt into sharp characters.
In the distance: trees of lustrous sap and mirth sparkle, and crinkle in the caramelised aquamarine projecting itself onto the leaves. Before you: know you can make out a sign in brilliant pyrography.
| Status | |||
| Circumstances | "Saturated, lucid" | Paraphernalia:
"Satchel" | Concepts:
"Cogency, cliff, moor, ocean, aquatic, land, stones, respiration, movement, literacy, English, consumption, appetite, young, danger, threat, will, space, height, position, inertia" |
| Circular Reasoning | "Logically Sound" | ||
| Profoundness | "Nil" | ||
Do you:
