୨୧˚♡* ♱ starter call, accepting. ( @lothews )
new jersey has never gotten as cold as this, never has their little farm back home made her bones quiver to a point where she can’t stand still. it was small, but it was always warm. she’s prayed every day to return there, begging the Lord for a miracle, or for a sign, any sign from Him. and everytime she did, she felt guilt seep through her skin, poisoning her and silencing her for the rest of the day, begging for forgiveness. she’s supposed to trust Him, infinitely and without doubts. she doesn’t need a sign, it was selfish to ask. after the dead guy's plane had failed, she hadn’t slept, or maybe she had, everything feels like nothing. she’d never stopped reading the flight manual, never stopped picking apart the plane at any place that could be picked. but it was a general, unsaid rule not to go out at night, so she sat awake and prayed instead. her hands are clasped and her thoughts are mid-reverence when she hears a noise. all too familiar, her heart alights, fluttering with anxiety. the longer she hears, the less she can stand it. these weren’t blessed images of the Lord, these were flashes of pain, of fear. He would not wish suffering on His prophet, He wouldn’t. not on lottie, not on lottie. “ lottie? ” she calls out, into the darkness, a pale, silvery hand drifting in the moonlight to find the blessing she calls a friend. crawling to her and cupping her face, cradling her. “ wake up, lottie, wake up. ”
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Currently, my mind has been silent. The usual whispers of thoughts and ideas have fled, I am left with an empty well of still water hoping to fish out an ounce of inspiration. Alas, all the fish in the well are dead - much like the free autumn leaves, only I don't feel free. But then again I stop and wonder, what really is freedom? Is it the lack of regulations or is the freedom i desire something that can only be obtained from death.
-prettydeadprophet
23/10/21
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