The Call Of The False Larynx

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Life, the world in which we dwell in, thoughts...

Submitted: May 13, 2011

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Submitted: May 13, 2011

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The Call Of The False Larynx

All she can do is scream.

As the final stone is tossed and misses her glass house, but still manages to shatter a window. The sweet oxygen enriched air seeps out of the cracked house, as broken sobs escape her lungs. The glass is translucent, stained and chipped, but the foundation remains unmovable. For that she screams.

The waves never cease, the persistent hum never falters. It's enough to drive a sane man mad, but a mad man to rest. It will always be the undoing of thoughts, of humanity. The calm before the storm they always say, but who is this they that speaks of misfortune but never feels the cold touch. The waves know the answers, to earth, to life, to the greater purpose. Fore their only purpose is to mangle the advances made. For that she screams. 

Every morning the sun rises, begins spreading it's invisible plague to those unfortunate enough to have shelter. Natures cleaning crew, freeing the earth of the small and the weak. There is only two guarantees in life they say; the sun rising and death. Though those words fall as whispers in the dark, passed to one soul to another. Fore to know that death is impending, these theys must of passed. Vessels we are, and nothing more. For that she screams. 

In a world so large, so infinite. There's nothing past these vivid illusions we are brainwashed to believe in. These opportunities that have yet to present themselves can simply be categorized into two garbage bins. To donate your organs, your mind, thoughts, life to the cause of blind devotion on the 'theys' battle field. Or scream out, the truths behind the carefully fabricated lies and be rewarded with a bullet to the larynx. For that she screams.

All she can do is scream.


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