docholligay:
Okay I’m trying not to give myself more than about 30-40 min on each of these because the whole idea is to BREAK THE CREATIVE CYCLE, so be kind I know its rusty and clunky.
The sound of the sea tumbled and crashed in her mind, a
gentle symphony, free of structure and yet somehow bent to the very will of the
universe in its perfection. There were no off notes, no player too slow or too
fast, simply the perfect crescendo as each wave ended out its brief and perfect
life against the shore. It soothed her in a way few could understand, as a
mother gently shushing and comforting a fussy infant, laying a warm blanket about
her mind.
She was imagining the ocean very hard as Haruka stood on her
hand-tied Turkish carpet, covered in mud and what smelled like swamp.
Keep reading