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Nausea Metamorphosis
#WritcoStoryPrompt78
The cup levitates. Its contents brimming to the point of overflowing. At the edges the liquid inside shivers, viscous a little. But who knows? How longer shall it withstand before breaking? The surrounding air trembles. As if, in trepidation. They reminisce, perhaps a bad memory, a recent happening. Above, hopelessness lays. Watching, draining all vivacious hues. Steam rises. Motivation. I'm doing something. Progress, the baby steps. Mockingly, the temperature drops. Absolute zero. Frozen. My skin thawing out. The contents still, frozen too. The dry winds blow, hopes to get out of here swept away. Overbearingly, the helplessness of albatrosses. The questions arise. Don't heroes exist? Am I not worth saving? The air gives way, shredded by the cold. The cup tilts to the side, unable to maintain its balance. It swings, like a pendulum, to the other side. The equilibrium is broken and it falls. Through the heights, its life flashing before the eyes. Perhaps I was a good cup. Perhaps not. It hits the floor, and breaks in a million pieces. Shattered, never to be used again.
#story
© Tђєє ⓞrเginɑl🩸
The cup levitates. Its contents brimming to the point of overflowing. At the edges the liquid inside shivers, viscous a little. But who knows? How longer shall it withstand before breaking? The surrounding air trembles. As if, in trepidation. They reminisce, perhaps a bad memory, a recent happening. Above, hopelessness lays. Watching, draining all vivacious hues. Steam rises. Motivation. I'm doing something. Progress, the baby steps. Mockingly, the temperature drops. Absolute zero. Frozen. My skin thawing out. The contents still, frozen too. The dry winds blow, hopes to get out of here swept away. Overbearingly, the helplessness of albatrosses. The questions arise. Don't heroes exist? Am I not worth saving? The air gives way, shredded by the cold. The cup tilts to the side, unable to maintain its balance. It swings, like a pendulum, to the other side. The equilibrium is broken and it falls. Through the heights, its life flashing before the eyes. Perhaps I was a good cup. Perhaps not. It hits the floor, and breaks in a million pieces. Shattered, never to be used again.
#story
© Tђєє ⓞrเginɑl🩸
