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Apr. 21st, 2009 07:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
coniuratiYou wake up. It’s a dreary day; a thick, grey blanket covers the sky. The air is heavy, making your movements sluggish and your mind dulled. There’s no breeze, no breath of fresh air. Even the monsters seem quiet. Too quiet.
As time passes, a tension fills the air. Think of it as a nervous rush engulfing the population of Discedo. One of those feelings that cause you to glance over your shoulder every now and then. But it’s easy to reassure yourself. There’s nothing wrong... Besides the whole “stuck in a city for a monsters” thing, right? All is well.
At least until tomorrow.
Your only indication of sunrise is a slight illumination from behind the clouds. No sunlight, no moonlight, definitely no stars for the next week. Just an all-encompassing grey seeping through the city. And, if you close your eyes and listen, you might hear it. A whisper here and there, a muffled voice. A cry from one who should not be crying. The indistinct murmurings of the dead. As time passes, you’ll notice the voices becoming clearer, louder, stronger. More frantic, demanding.
No, no, baby. Covering your ears won’t help. You can’t escape the desperation of a people once-annihilated. You can feel it in your gut. You can feel it in the dead stare of the woman you see out of the corner of your eye. You can feel it in the pleas of that bloodied child crying for its mother. From a presence when you think you’re alone to the cold fingers caressing your cheek, you can feel it.
There’s no escaping them.
( SUMMARY AND VOLUNTEERS )
As time passes, a tension fills the air. Think of it as a nervous rush engulfing the population of Discedo. One of those feelings that cause you to glance over your shoulder every now and then. But it’s easy to reassure yourself. There’s nothing wrong... Besides the whole “stuck in a city for a monsters” thing, right? All is well.
At least until tomorrow.
Your only indication of sunrise is a slight illumination from behind the clouds. No sunlight, no moonlight, definitely no stars for the next week. Just an all-encompassing grey seeping through the city. And, if you close your eyes and listen, you might hear it. A whisper here and there, a muffled voice. A cry from one who should not be crying. The indistinct murmurings of the dead. As time passes, you’ll notice the voices becoming clearer, louder, stronger. More frantic, demanding.
No, no, baby. Covering your ears won’t help. You can’t escape the desperation of a people once-annihilated. You can feel it in your gut. You can feel it in the dead stare of the woman you see out of the corner of your eye. You can feel it in the pleas of that bloodied child crying for its mother. From a presence when you think you’re alone to the cold fingers caressing your cheek, you can feel it.
There’s no escaping them.
( SUMMARY AND VOLUNTEERS )
