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When the sun sets

[When the sun sets, 559 words, Genre: Experimental]

* Image courtesy of Dirk de Bruyn

When darkness fell around the coastal town, spirits would gather in their hordes. They would wait, lay in waiting, leaning upon the barrier that separated the world of the living between the world of the dead. When the street lights faded out, when the roll of traffic ceased as a general hum and became a deadening silence. When the sun had long since settled over the mountainous peaks, that could be clearly seen if one desired to pursue it with vocarious activity.

A mental shift in observation could be demonstrated with specific interest into the planes of the living and the dead. It did not happen often, the physical representation of the mental shift being observable only seen by some. Those masters of the ethereal plane. Those that continued to pursue higher points of knowledge inaccessible to the mundane mind. The mundane mind, the mind that lived a physical countenance of pursual of the flesh. The pursual of the flesh that invigorated the physical construction and physical ties to the realm of Earthly pleasures. Everyone needs, once in a while, to be reminded of the flesh. It promotes a sense of endeavour, a sense of motivation, of reinvigoration for life, a prolicative taste for it.

But when the sensory perceptions became distorted, like rain coming down on the asphalt, shadows broke through a wall of anticipation and degradation. The wall became so thin between the world of the  spirit and human desire that the spirits walked among the living.

They were dead men, all of them were dead men. Walking amongst the world of the living, gathering force and manifesting a great cloud of deceit and upheaval. Upheaval of the physical realms. For when you stared death in the face. One could only know what sort of impact that would have on you.

The motivations of others always proclaimed the world of the living, the world of the working and toiling individual as glorious and beneficial to society. However, the world of the living was truly dead and the dead truly living. Nothing is more of a proclamation of those that live then those who are in touch with the primal forces of nature. Those primal forces of nature will wreck havoc upon those supposedly inscrutable and uncountable crimes, enforced through their position of power.

And the dead did walk the Earth. The dead stared into the eyes of those that were living and spoke in a foreign language. What they were trying to say was, “Stop this! Cease this! This mad endeavour you find yourself caught up in. It is doing damage to you. You are doing damage to the Earth!” But those that were living paid no mind to those that were dead, for the living were thought of as dead, when the dead were actually living.

There was no end to the corruption. The cycle of blackened hearts that were out of touch with the Earth. The Earth called out for it all to end, but the dead did not listen to the living.

Sometimes those that were dead offered sanctimony to the living. Offering them booze, bread and butter. They thought that this would satisfy the shouts of the living. The living yelling at the dead. But the dead were confused over who was truly living and who was truly dead.

As we all are.


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