A SHORT MAGICAL REALIST STORY ABOUT THE PANDEMIC

The creaking silence of age and cries, echoes through the streets and brittle winds of winter. The harbinger of death creeps and infiltrates during the hour, minutes and split seconds of the untamed crow. Candles lit in silent prayer, the vulnerable tears and blood flower from the minds of many and the hunting prey morphed into untamed hybrids devouring on the vulnerable and the weak.

They say the storm is about to come, fear is fueled and instilled in our vulnerable souls. Like a shadow realm with the whispers of the dead that still cry for their loved ones the living we scrumble while unknowingly heading for a new wasteland that will soon be our new utopia. Our consolidated consciousness that travels in the darkness foreboded by the hybrids whom have feasted upon us like a feast for crows for the past twenty six years. Where was this utopia going?

The burial of the dead looms, wastelands arise and tears are drank and consumed on a daily basis.

Lockdown,

Lockdown,

Many want to resign to death in this period. The pain of being trapped in a maze while waiting for the sheep or the leopard to direct you in the right way of life as they embrace their own fangs with the most sadistic expression. Where is this utopia going?

Summer winds used to keep us serene –

The sun blazing its tenderness on our skin giving us meaning and purpose in life.

The smell of flowers and the first breath of fresh air in the hours of the morning – a sincere sense of clarity and sanity.

The smell of coffee while walking past a shop was a normality – the sanity of it all, to know that you are still breathing. The roots of our society and clutch of our minds were soon to be foreboded into a dysphoria where the flicker of hope and light was a mere metaphor. We’re merely trapped in a maze and passed on a spilling wheel knowing there is Shinigami waiting, sometimes yearning while drenching in heavy saliva dripping from its mouth in sheer crave to write our names in the book of Death as many have travelled to Death’s other Kingdom.

A million graves dug for a million vessels waiting to be buried. No temporary hospitals can be built. Just a million graves. Bodies – reduced to lifeless vessels ready for termites in the graves dug by the living ordered by the harbingers of death. The moon rises, the airborne of death has begun. Our minds are beginning to shift to the post-apocalyptic. Our great depression is here.

Unathi Ndlelantle Ngada  ©

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Isolation

×STILL A BAD GIRL×

I’m a good girl too dammit. I’m really good at being used as a bad example!

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We Still Inside: A Quarantine Photo Series

So quarantine has gotten to me, and I did what any normal person would do to pass time

I painted 3 and a half acrylic paintings featuring the Duolingo owl

Happy Star Wars day 2020! Hope you guys are all being safe and well out there like these 2 and sporting you Star Wars masks. May the 4th be with you all!

color changing lemonade

Made with wild violet simple syrup

Eleonora x Edoardo, Skam (Italia)

Hey, I just made my first uquiz out of complete boredom. It’s called “which one of my dream love scenarios you’re going to have” (ye the title is long I know), I’ve spent the whole day making it and the results are really detailed I felt like I was writing a prompt. So if you’d like to try it out the link is in the reblog