at first when the rain fell from the sky so wide and deep it smelled like sage, my favorite smell I went up on the plateau to watch it come to see the gifts it always brought but this rain changed from blue to black and left nothing.
The beauty of dystopia is that it lets us vicariously experience future worlds - but we still have the power to change our own.
When we read dystopia, we root for these people to break free because we are these people; hoping and fighting against things that are bigger than ourselves.
Lightning. Once it has forked, hot-white, from sky to earth, there is no going back
Writing, painting, singing- it cannot stop everything. Cannot halt death in its tracks. But perhaps it can make the pause between deathβs footsteps sound and look and feel beautiful, can make the space of waiting a place where you can linger without as much fear. For we are all walking each other to our deaths, and the journey there between footsteps makes up our lives.
Was [Sisyphus] from your province? 'I don't know. I don't know if he's real,' Ky says. 'If he ever existed.' 'Then why tell his story?' I don't understand, and for a second I feel betrayed. Why did Ky tell me about this person and make me feel empathy for him when there's no proof that he ever lived at all? Ky pauses for a moment before he answers, ...'Even if he didn't live his story, enough of us have lived lives just like it. So it's true anyway.
