storytellers

Untitled Journal Entry

Storyteller: X

I slept as if overcome by some very strong narcotic. I was buried deep into my slumber overwhelmed by my vivd dreams. Dreams of fighting myself figuratively by a juxtaposition of heaven and hell. What does it all mean?

I was awoken by a full bladder and a call from my mother. I was also starving. I cooked. No butter. Rubbish. How did I forget the quintessential ingredient in most of my cooking. I was overtaken by frustration but preceded to cook. Growing more disgusted with what was soon to be my breakfast. I inhaled the food without hesitation only to realize it had gone too soon. The agony.

The snow. A clear representation of everything that is delicate, intricate, and pure. It felll and it fell. It's as if the world stood still as the sky flaked. Silence penetrated the courtyard. Bliss. Pure beauty. Then it stopped. Just cold air and silence. What a wonder. 

Bilphena YahwonComment