Lonely silence in an empty space where there was no place for dreams and illusions. Tears were not allowed anymore since the night when delusions ruled the realm of emotions.
Nothing could have been better than losing hope because it would have avoided the waves of anguish of destroying the beloved castle of expectations.
Waiting was an endless torture, silent but perpetually tormenting the process of self-adulation. Lonely silence remained the only faithful refuge and loyal companion for the rest of an arid existence.
Suddenly, the night conspired with the ruler of nightmares to ensure that distress and emptiness were constantly present even during the desired slumber.
The bells of scorn welcomed the new dreamers, wanderers of the fantastic garden of dreams and illusions. No one could guess what was expected behind the veil of oblivion but only an abyss of darkness.
Solitude and silence reigned supreme, surrounding the eternal infinity. A lonely silence was all that remained after the storm of sorrow, and fear annihilated everything.
A poisonous slumber entranced the unaware spirits and vagabonds without any dwelling.
The sound of struggles echoed faintly, swallowed by the void, leaving no trace of their existence.
The night sky was heavy with forgotten stars, and even the winds surrendered to despair. The moon, veiled in shadows, refused to shine upon the desolate lands, where time itself seemed to falter, hindered by the weight of sorrow.
In this forsaken realm, no light dared to shine, and no heart dared to dream again. Each instant only led deeper into the abyss, where memories twisted into haunting phantoms, mocking the once cherished dreams.
The arcane fate was invisible, and the lure of despair was undeniable, enticing all who wandered into its unforgiving embrace. And a lonely silence was the only entity that survived as an inextinguishable flame of anguish.
A flame of sorrow and despair that gleamed weakly and persistently, casting faint shadows on the remnants of shattered hopes. It burned not to illuminate but to consume every last vestige of longing.
The world, now a graveyard of forsaken ideals, bowed to its eternal anathema. Nothing stirred, save for the ceaseless murmur of time slipping away, unnoticed, uncared for.
Within this boundless void, the lonely silence persisted, its flame feeding on the very essence of sorrow, an immortal witness to the final extinction of hope.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
