A Town of Solitude
The night was long and dark and rather, quite dead, for the earliest strands of morning light had begun to creep past those mountain cliffs, whose arms cradled a loathsome, lonely town of solitude. A place of macabre countenance, of a calibre one could taste, even in those eerie twilight hours.
Snoring symphonies dance in ones ear, an ode of slumber heard even in those darthly streets, where dim lamps dance to the rhythms of melting wax, so dying and in doing so, painting the world in blue. A moment where time seemed to freeze, where the snoring was of the softest and most tender of breathes. Where all was deadly calm.
Houses, huts and dilapitated spires were etched into the terrain, like the jaggered, rotten fangs of dead giants, whose teeth pierce through the mists of the morning air. On the far edge of the town, overlooking the morbid mountains and black sky rests an apartment. Which was small. However, flanked by buildings that eclipsed the tiny residence in their garguatuan shadows, borne by the dreary lights of its dwellers. An ocean of concrete shade which stretched and drowned the land in entoxicating shadow.
The wind was chilly. Salty. And the skies were of the darkest hue, black as pitch, though suffocated by the bellowing mists of sky and sea, wasting higher unto the horizons oblivion. The morning was cold, but one could feel that familair warmth against the chill, sensations conflicted, the embodied anticipation of the coming dawn.
A single person stood. Murdoc. Atop his humble apartment, aloft a chair resting upon his balcony. He was alone and held a single cigerette. It's dim, warm light cast shadows stencilled through puffs of smoke. Little clouds swoon, orbiting Murdocs long unruly ebony hair, like sharks around a carcass.
A gentle breeze effortlessly blows the smoke away, bellowing with the winds, joining the larger fumes of shapeless cloud above. Reaching further into the sky like smoky fingers grasping for the world. Luminescent shadows licked the perspired skin of the tired man. Murdocs eyes were juxtaposed, soft saphires which stared hard upon the horizon. His gaze sharp and unfetted by the morning chill.
The snores begin to fade along with the cold and soon the shadows began to retreat.
Murdoc watched the sun rise. Its radiance breathing warm life unto the cold hues of the morning. Dawn had come, and the Sun had risen once more.
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