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Bloom Chapter 5 Putata sat in front of the fireplace with his sketchpad and small paint brush in hand. He scribbled with quick and sketchy strokes along the paper. As much as he'd rather be outside playing with Nyororo and/or go graffiti some buildings, neither him nor Mekeke liked the idea of getting frozen in a snow storm. The Puppeteer sat back to back with the artist while testing out the strings to his new puppet.
"Yo, Mekeke." Putata said without looking up from his sketching. "When do you think the snow will stop and we can go play?"
Mekeke shrugged. "Not sure. The weather reporters say it probably won't let up for a while."
The light haired keronian laughed. "Yeah, and they said that it wouldn't start snowing for a couple days," He shook trying to contain his laughter. "And that was yesterday!" Mekeke sat in silence as Putata let loose another burst of laughter. "Someone needs to fire those guys and
Bloom Chapter 4 Yukiki, who had been sleeping seated on the stool, woke with a start. The stool, old and over the years eaten by termites, shook and broke under the snowman's weight. Yukiki fell backwards and landed on his back. He opened his eyes and squinted as sunlight filtered in through the window blinds revealing the dust that was rose from the floor boards after his fall.
Just a dream. Yukiki sighed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The dream was rather vague and he could barely remember some parts of it. Even despite that, something about it gave him and uneasy feeling. But it wouldn't help him to dwell on it, so he didn't. Instead he picked himself up, brushing the dust off, and examining the damage done to the stool. One of the legs had broken off and was beyond hope of repair. He redirected his attention to the piano. With proper lighting, the condition of the piano was easier to make out. Compared to the stool, the piano was s
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
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