Acinciturk2
From Create Your Own Story
having procured it outside of legal regimes from the 1796 submerged forest, you examine closely now with your right finger the chalk-villi bandaged across the wall, turning slowly to wintry templates across the landing. its texture, which pinches your fingers as it falls away, reminds you of deep-fried and stale food. since an immemorial date, it's been petrified as an impasto sculpture enveloping an unlit staircase at the far corner of the pinkish room.
one of the persistent burrs under your saddle is the small pieces of gravel trapped against the palm of your foot. that you managed at least to sprawl towards this settlement while wearing in only a thick pair of rough-hewn socks was fairly untemperamental of you, but as soon as the larger qualms are settled even small discomforts are magnified in your mind with the physical illusion of the former. there's a collection of your un-sleek paraphernalia that your created yourself. you take off the socks to wash later in the river basin. in the corner there's the faintest glow created by a heated spool of metal surrounded by a chimney of adobe bricks draped in powder and several hundred short, fibrous cloths collectively a bedsheet which is where you have slept for a short lifetime. most of the dusty tempera palettes that you've recently used have all desaturated to white as over time they caught the thick layer of dust from burning bundles of sticks in your living quarters.
