A Fresh, New World.

By Kayal S

“Sunny skies, crystal clear, mystic vines spread galore. People rejoice, with pride and vice, the melody of patriots so very near. However pure, the wretched core strikes open the abyss. The never-forgiven oaths taken by the popes, a lie to run amiss.”

The artificially interrupted hue of twilight glow fades sputtering, as it chokes out its last text. The flat screen turns to black, leaving a retained soft amber flicker, emanating as a helix, ashen around the circular buttons, framing them. The device crashes against the ground, sent on a spiral through the grass by the nimble hand that floats through the stagnant air upon that solemn night. 

Flames burning eternal purple embracing the electric blues, cascaded down the machine, trembling past the silvery metallic illustrations of armoury. The display of modern artistic tapestries, intonated by the beast, a feat of engineering, standing on command at the back of the woman, with translucent locks of hair camouflaging against the forthcoming wind, with the outline of her designated figure painted against the sky. She stared out to the invisible horizon of the midnight canvas, the sight enough to adopt the landscape as the “devil’s” playground. This devil. 

Forced to be frigid the dampened grounds squelched under the weight of the titanium decked upon her, that she adorned with confidence. Her vehicle burnt throughout the darkness, abandoned, silhouetting her as her complexion merged into the clouds of the far north, unveiling the city with its twinkling lights alone at the long distance.

The sun crept steadily to reach the heights above, floating in a sea of bliss, pigmented with prussian pastels that traced the textures winding the rolling sky. The crisp chirping of the birds, piercing through the clouds, distorted by the relentless chaos reverbrating the ground below. The alluring architecture of the city, blossomed tourists who snaked through the hectic pace of Velmora, a labrynth embedded with residents buzzing with constant energy, and citizens who hummed with an industrious ethic, choosing to adopt a "burning the midnight oil" kind of attitude.

 It is a venue navigated, to observe diversity in its authentic form.

You could capture a man fitted in a sharply geometric, and neatly ironed suit, hoisting a leather briefcase in his left palm, his right pressing a glistening phone to his ear, conversing back and forth on the tangible topics of stock purchases and share market decreases which seared out from his voice in a monotonous modulation; acquiring the mandatory morning espresso in the same neighbourhood as the exhilaratingly cranky toddler, being dragged temperedly by an exhausted mother, screaming and wailing to release a pitch of sound, capable of sharding glass, resonating so vivid to evolve a kidnapper "timidly" gesturing a child into a dingey basement never to be seen again, as an image in the minds of hypocritical pedestrians who fabricate their own fairytales on the internet. Whoo. Deep thoughts need long sentences. 

At the centre of the square, a pedestal rose, infused with pride and emblemmed with archaic prints to designate this abstract land.

Bows and ribbons danced about its esoteric symbolism, fashioned with ecstatic lights and electrifying spirits that revolved around it. 

Regardless, what caught the mortal's attention, would be the sleekly outfitted slender lady, who strode through the festivity, with an unbearably indifferent demeanour and 5 inch stilettos, which snugly encased her feet. Platinum blond strands of hair stroked her face, waving with the breeze, as she paraded down the packed streets with a purpose. Her oversized sunglasses disguised her identity, as she made her way to a desolate alley. 

She paused at the red brick toned walls that cornered the bleak space.

In the nick of time, to hide the glitch in the matrix, as her complexion ran see-through.

By Kayal S