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SighSigh by *MisterAibo
An observer beyond the thick glass of my eyeballs,
I see the world around,
zooming towards me and beyond,
dodging me in its myriads of ways,
and standing here as one of the many,
with my mouth closed and teeth clenched,
the men tumbling over each other in the pursuit of success of their icons,
as symbolic and mighty to them as once were stained glass windows.
I see this age’s saints,
elevated by the mass of lackeys and contenders and dreamers,
put above the world,
towering as giants,
sure of their height.
I ask myself if they know they are able to fall.
And then, I ask if they really are.
Who would touch the titans of this age?
Would it be the young, who exchanged the tit for a phone,
book for a toy,
a minute of silent contemplation for ear-piercing shriek of music that penetrates their minds,
a thought for an image
an idea for a vain void?
Should we try to topple those icons,
being driven with our own envy and greed
Ysmir's Story Luck.Ysmir's Story by *MisterAibo
Luck means everything in the desert.
When the gods make your well dry up and you spend a week on a half-ration of water, it’s unlucky. When heartroot bursts from the ground in your camp and you have something to eat, it’s luck.
When you become a witch doctor of your tribe, it’s luck.
When you can heal a filly dying from a scorpion bite, it’s luck.
It’s because you are blessed by the gods.
So what if you’re about to get sacrificed to the same gods you’ve been serving for past four-and-ten summers?
I spent my whole life tipping the balance of luck. Cooking potions to cure illnesses of my tribe, examining the wind currents to guess when we should move our tents so they don’t get buried in sand when the Storm comes. Telling the warriors they are blessed so their spirits don’t abandon them during the battle.