Iris Diaries: Motile Stillness
It lies.
You first noticed it on a Tuesday - or was it a Thursday? Does it even matter? The days all blur when that weight creeps in. One minute, you’re fine - sipping lukewarm coffee, staring out the window at some asshole walking their tiny yapping dog - and the next, it’s there. Settling over your shoulders like an old, damp coat you didn’t realize you were wearing. That’s how it gets you. Not with some grand arrival, no horns blaring, no warning. It slithers in, soft and quiet, hissing sweet nothings about how nothing fucking matters anyway.
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About the Creator
Iris Obscura
Do I come across as crass?
Do you find me base?
Am I an intellectual?
Or an effed-up idiot savant spewing nonsense, like... *beep*
Is this even funny?
I suppose not. But, then again, why not?
Read on...
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Where is She?
The shoe sits there, alone in the damp, narrow alley, its once-pristine white leather now streaked with grime and streaks of rain-soaked filth. It shouldn’t be there – not here, not like this. It feels wrong, impossibly wrong. There’s no partner shoe lying nearby, no scatter of belongings, no evidence of a chaotic escape or frantic departure. Just this singular shoe, defiant and haunting in its solitude. And silence – an oppressive, heavy silence that presses against your chest and settles like a stone in your gut.
By Iris Obscuraabout a year ago in Criminal
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