Started this yesterday as a five hundred word challenge, had to stop before I finished. Decided to wrap it up just now. Writing’s uneven, but I like the flow.

I hope you enjoy.

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Rows upon rows of hell and boredom, and all the tedium that passes through the day condensed into a moment stuck on repeat. Coursing through veins of valleys and found within shadows bent toward the sun, dissipating and unable to look away, trying to claw back some of their domain and control, always unable to, always unable to find where they lie and unable to find themselves anchored within a solid realm. Always on the move, running from something they wish to stop ceding ground to, and always at a loss. Always running.

Crawling through rows of desks and computers and hell in a frozen point in time, and breathing. Inhaling and expelling, transforming constituent components of gasses and being alive but barely living, and finding new ways to construct forces that prevent openness whilst always wearing a mask that promotes some sort of idea of openness. The shield is up and it is invisible.

The sound of machines humming away to a tune not known and not familiar, but always there, always present and always finding its way into one’s ears, despite how much they do to block it out. Despite how much they do to plug their ears, that hum always seeps and creeps, and it always furthers its cause to be as in the back as it is in the fore, always present, always haunting an existence that is lived and not one spent living.

Through time and space, various forms take on meaning rendered meaningless, and only found when they are absent, and that is if they are lucky. Often it is that there is space they cannot find for it is provided to other things. the shape of things may be thought of and there may be longing, but memories and moods look for comfort in other things familiar, because the space only mattered in the context of it being used as was required. Otherwise objects were just lines taking form recognised as familiar and part of the background blur.

Rows upon rows of hell and boredom, separated from at specific times of the day in order to move to another location, elsewhere, contained within more lines, and to watch the light disappear as the shadows approach and take hold of the space, or rather move to the space in order to continue escaping the sun; an object that they wish to dominate, but never can.