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PerspectiveDark weight presses down, crushing the breath from her. So much pain and hurt for one body to bear. The personal suffering is the center of her universe; she orbits as a dying Sun. Pull back She is in the house with loved ones, each one a separate life but bound together by blood and name, she can seek solace here if only she will look without Pull backPerspective
She is on the street where ideas are shared and tears cried and babies fed. Her local tribe, her village of strangers, smiling in daily ritual in response to Pavlov’s social bell. Pull back The city of noise drowns out the personal cry for
by *Bunnyfugger
The Existance of the "Lost"I do not walk through the darkness of the surface world with a purpose. I'm a stray life in a mesh of things far too great for me to begin to fit in anywhere, always falling through the seems of it all. I am considered one of the lost. We are the product of the world's forgetfulness. The world is not perfect ... and yes, I do believe it forgets things. It forgets just how many people are truly here and forgets to give a path and destiny for everyone. It does not happen very often, though when it does, the creature left in such a manner ... without meaning or purpose ... must fiThe Existance of the "Lost"
by ~miserythedrow
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