Individual Apocalypse


South African.

Leafy goodness!

Egg shells feel like feathers - softly, gently ground beneath behemoth tongues. Leviathan laughter echoes.

Abstract butterflies take the brunt, wings turning to kaleidoscope dust in the nuclear wind.

Eyes see strangely through scorched sclera, strands of psychedelic vapour somehow still visible.

Perspective skewed beyond the realms of human conception leaves ruins where cognisance once reigned.

The colours don't rhyme.

The colours don't rhyme.


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Comments (2 so far!)

Average reader rating 4.00/5

Jim Stitzel

Jim Stitzel

Twisted and surreal. I love it. :)

  • #4399 Posted 2 years ago
  • 0
  • 4 out of 5


Repetition indicates importance. Of all the descriptions, this is the parting thought. And I can't help but notice the European spelling of colour. I've always preferred that.

  • #4400 Posted 2 years ago
  • 0
  • Published 3 years ago and featured 2 years ago.
  • Story viewed 12 times and rated 1 times.

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