12.11.17 – Girdered
Towers are sprouting from the ground at an accelerated pace. They look like fingers bursting up from beneath the dead pavement, palm still hidden below that black swill and threatening in the suggestion that we’re stuck at its middle with no speed strong enough to run us off. Those squared digits aren’t bent or angled in a fashion to grasp and clutch at our bodies, instead they’re just thrust straight up like we’re meant to be slightly caged and planted on the cupped stage of an open palm with an enormous god peering down on us with a wicked curiosity.
I’m spinning to sort out which five skyscrapers make up a hand and how I might find whether I’m luckily slotted between two behemoths or if I’m in the path of a rising kidnapper. There’s no rhyme to the architecture that might point out a set worn by the same creature. Those skeletons and their simple, glossy flesh vary from each one to the next. I guess we’re dealing with a Frankenstein-ed creation, one that masks the murderous movement intentionally. Maybe we aren’t supposed to discern the pattern otherwise we might avoid the designed capture.
It makes more sense to rout out of this blocky nightmare and hope those sleeping giants keep moving at a crawl till I’ve left this splash of their coarse flesh. To me they’re already decaying beings, crumbling under their own weight, skin pale, ashen and cracking between seams. But time hasn’t stopped the steady progress upwards and they’ve reached new heights that might just expose that last layer before the trap is sprung. Once it’s broken through I expect the pace to quicken and our ascent to observation to be rapid and final. There’s a wilderness whispering beneath the streets that’s become a low growl and I’m just suspicious enough to leave these dragons for others to tempt.