My superpower is telling stories
He woke. Watched the dancing lights on wall.
Screen was on. Screen was always on.
He sat up. “Black. Warm.” A warm cup of Black appeared on the table beside him.
He sipped. He did not ponder, nor contemplate. He sipped and sat, eyes vacant.
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“I don’t think that’s it at all.” She said.
She scowled at the paint sample against the wall of the study.
He sighed. The fiftieth sigh against the hundredth paint chip from the builder’s supply store. That’s not a bad ratio, he thought to himself. I am handling this dreadful plebeian drama rather well.
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Little Bobby knelt and prayed every night by his bed with the moon shining on him from high in the sky outside his window.
We are, we have always been.
Holding council, ever unchanging.
As the pleasant warmth returns, the discussion continues where it left off when the cold time came.
Old Abarak weighed in first, as usual. “We were once part of a great society, A KINGDOM on a mountain; we WERE the mountain, that was the expanse of our kind…Together as ONE!”
The elders nearby murmured in agreement.
“Nothing could touch or harm us. Harmony and peace for ages.”
“Then one day… One horrible day…”
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