I can’t remember when last I saw them, when I last saw my Master and his Mistress. A Babel of voices, pouring down from those glass walled towers, their facades sliced open, bisected by balconies slung high like so many diving boards. A swirling, overwhelming melee of voices and tongues, indecipherable through that roaring hubbub of their own making.
Alone. Forgotten. A tsunami of sound, drowning out the silence I long for in my isolation – I cast my own voice into that wall of noise that threatens to engulf me. I sing my song of sorrow – a song for the lonesome. A song of regret. Alone and forgotten. Chained, imprisoned. I sing for my Master, I sing for those incorporeal voices – until I hear the blessed melody of his voice, rising above fractured, thronging noises.
I hear his voice.
“Somebody shut that bloody dog up!”
<em>Something I wrote some time ago, I’ve had shocking writer’s block, I’ve not even been able to do much in the way of rewriting…although I think my one of my Twisters this week may go some way to explaining it. I’ll post them soon too, I promise!</em>