💾 Archived View for gemini.estradiol.cloud › ~rumblestrips › fragments › cluttering.gmi captured on 2024-09-29 at 00:16:09. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
⬅️ Previous capture (2024-06-16)
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her hands don't wait for much these days, not even telephone calls: she skulks too slowly to merit even half the attention she used to receive. her eyes shift backwards, looking at a history in the air cordoned off from view, lit from minuscule recesses and warrens. she takes a breath that hangs heavy in the air: sighs built from volcanic ash and barely audible, sulphuric wails. a cough makes its way the edge of her parched tongue. she stifles it as much as she can, her unfiltered breaths precious and in demand. she looks deeper at the glistening corners and sees faces: her own, and those of her sisters, growing increasingly indistinct. a dry wind tickles her throat and the inside of her nostrils. keep listening, she thinks, they might hear you after all, above all this wind. three whistles blow and the faces go pale and out of focus, scattering like rats. rats, she thinks, they've eaten through my memories. the lights are no longer the memories, just phosphorescent vermin shit. a broom and dustpan tumble off the wall. they're on the loose again, going through the boxes and eating through the glue. her synapses shudder and go dim as she flicks on the lights, which clatter into a milky glow. slivers of chewed cardboard, droppings, and torn papers lead into a spiral trail into the center of the room. the only way through is out.
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note: work in progress lastmod: 2024-05-29
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