You Are Not Alone - Excerpts
Of all the places to think you're alone - the ocean should not be one of them. Though you can't see the end of the murky depths, you are among many thousands of other lost people with only one difference between everyone - you are alive and they are dead.
The glimmer of their eyes becomes sea foam, their hair the forests of kelp and their anger the rogue waves that beat the living into their depths.
-- -- -- -- --
The desert sands move as though they are kicked by unseen feet, dragged stubbornly across the dunes and away from civilisation. Their dead are compelled to go deep into the wilderness, deeper than they ever thought possible until they are left with nothing but sand at every turn.
It isn't certain at what point our desert becomes this endless oubliette but somewhere along their compelled journey they leave our world entirely. Gone to walk forever in sands that shift and distort around them with the footprints of centuries-old lost souls.
-- -- -- -- --
The wind in the mountains howls like no wind should be able to. On stormy evenings you can make out words, cries for help and forgiveness overlapping in an endless agonising roar that wants you dead, alive and in the sweet embrace of the sheer drop all at once.
Some days the wind just cries for the loved ones who died elsewhere, their names echoing like a phantom registry until the wind dies down again, the sobbing stops and they rest once more as a gentle, beckoning breeze.
-- -- -- -- --
The thing to remember when you are alone is that you are never truly alone.
There will always be the welcome embrace of the dead right beside you.
Of all the places to think you're alone - the ocean should not be one of them. Though you can't see the end of the murky depths, you are among many thousands of other lost people with only one difference between everyone - you are alive and they are dead.
The glimmer of their eyes becomes sea foam, their hair the forests of kelp and their anger the rogue waves that beat the living into their depths.
-- -- -- -- --
The desert sands move as though they are kicked by unseen feet, dragged stubbornly across the dunes and away from civilisation. Their dead are compelled to go deep into the wilderness, deeper than they ever thought possible until they are left with nothing but sand at every turn.
It isn't certain at what point our desert becomes this endless oubliette but somewhere along their compelled journey they leave our world entirely. Gone to walk forever in sands that shift and distort around them with the footprints of centuries-old lost souls.
-- -- -- -- --
The wind in the mountains howls like no wind should be able to. On stormy evenings you can make out words, cries for help and forgiveness overlapping in an endless agonising roar that wants you dead, alive and in the sweet embrace of the sheer drop all at once.
Some days the wind just cries for the loved ones who died elsewhere, their names echoing like a phantom registry until the wind dies down again, the sobbing stops and they rest once more as a gentle, beckoning breeze.
-- -- -- -- --
The thing to remember when you are alone is that you are never truly alone.
There will always be the welcome embrace of the dead right beside you.
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