Pawn Identity
This solemn creature nestles its head back on the smooth-sided rock, inside this hollowed house of irregular shapes and sides.
The cloud-covered moon rises slowly, calming the surrounding landscape and lulling it into a dreary daze.
The trampled grass stands still, creating a zigzag silhouette along the horizon. The wind blows like a conversation, whispering in a lost language of nature with its intermittent gusts.
A broken branch disrupts the peace, echoing like footsteps in a sleepy early-morning street, while a crackling fire spits and hisses, evoking a jaded theory, a fear of history repeating and perpetually renewing this feeling—no bottom, no ceiling.
The damp residue collects on the sides of this shadowed mountain hollow, falling patiently like an ever-growing snowball of defeat.
The morning sun warms the cold, damp hollow where the creature lies, welcoming the day with joy and hope. The fear of darkness and the unknown that kept it hidden has given way to a self-proclaimed protest against its petrified state of mind.
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