green catacomb

Apr 21st, 2014
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  1. in our convention of mold only we can make the
  2. floorboards not squeak and so we stare at the
  3. intruder.
  5. our green eyes in unison.
  7. the intruder's nostrils flare as they breathe our
  8. new air and accept it and then with one step forward
  9. they join our convention. eyes return and scatter.
  11. cobwebs are wrapped around my collar and I hold you
  12. while we look at the mold. precious and delicate we
  13. have accidently created the perfect environment for
  14. it. who knows for how long? everyone else that comes
  15. here feels it too, and most of them stay and join
  16. us. the ones that don't will return eventually.
  18. so I twist a long strand of it in my fingers with
  19. gentleness - and I know that tomorrow this one will
  20. bloom. and then we will nudge its fruit with our
  21. breath. we have found out that they need us to watch
  22. them in order to grow.
  24. I can see the former intruder down on his hands and
  25. knees his eyes gazing at a really intricate and
  26. beautiful formation. I can't help but smile at their
  27. entranced wonderment - with a tinge of sadness I see
  28. a mirror of my past self.
  30. later:
  31. for some reason intruders stopped coming into our
  32. green catacomb. our numbers became stagnant and we
  33. grew old with the mold. the most ancient strands
  34. developed a beautiful and intricate bark. I could
  35. not decipher the writing in its patterns. the
  36. brittle nature of it consumed our efforts and
  37. attention.
  39. we cared for the mold and desperately wished that it
  40. would outlive us and outgrow its reliance on us.
  41. some of the feathered plumes were so top heavy that
  42. they sagged. I spend all my days now holding up one
  43. of these plumes. in this locked position I have seen
  44. some of the other members fold away into the convention.
  45. as for the others outside of my vision; I have begun
  46. to hear less and less of their breaths moving through the air...
  48. before me, as I hold the plume, a youthful looking
  49. sprout lifts up from a kink in one of the ancient
  50. barks. days pass and I see it begin to develop a
  51. fruiting body on its end. I know that the end is
  52. near, but I have a plan: if the mold must be watched
  53. in order to grow, then, I have resolved to die with
  54. my eyes open and gazing upon it.
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