Fed intravenously. According to history. Diseases enchanted in armoured cabinets. Drunk like vinegar.
With every passing second, another soul dies under their irresistible weight.
Time stands still. Time waits for no one. The time is ripe.
Now we can only drink bitter wine. It will not sweeten our lives, but it will ensure survival. That's what we’ve always wanted, right? So why can’t we enjoy it?
The most inaccessible layers of the soul are yet to be discovered.
About the Creator
Moon Desert
UK-based
BA in Cultural Studies
Crime Fiction: Love
Poetry: Friend
Psychology: Salvation
Where the wild roses grow full of words...
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Creatures of the Night
~~August~~ Technicolor lights flash and pulse in accordance to the rumbling bass thumping from the towering speakers across the dark room. Bodies pack the central space upon a raised floor built from illuminating panels like sardines, bumping and grinding against one another like headless chickens. Light scatters through the club, reflecting off of the mirror ball that dangles from the ceiling. The lights become diffused by the faint sheen of smoke that floats through the room, spat out by the machines hidden in the DJ’s booth and the walls like a victim of Poe. The thick taste of sweat and revelry swims through the air, tinged with mixed drinks and bad decisions.
By Aidan O'Kaneabout 11 hours ago in Fiction
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