It is cramped in here. It is shallow. It is dusty from decades of breathing the same air.
Nothing new grows here. But all that is here remains.
Things die, but they are reborn in the identical form. There is no evolution here.
Words do not travel through space here. They fall into traps that litter the air.
Sometimes a rainbow appears. It is like a mirage, but it is pretty, and we like pretty. No matter it is not real. No matter it will soon disappear.
It is cramped in here. It is shallow.
It is time for dinner. I’m coming, mum. I’m coming.
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[illustration by elba goodey]
Slobbering Hounds is an honest blog dedicated to short, illuminating pieces of writing of 500 words or less. Every entry is true, and has been inspired by events in my life, or the lives of others I come across. I hope that by reflecting the human condition in this way, that I can make someone, anyone, feel that we are all, in our longing, the same.
The Soul of the Slobbering Hound
Whole weeks go by and the words don’t come, but bark instead from the cavernous deep of my longing, of my confusion, of my loved and lost, of my ambition and inadequacy, of my dying, of my fear, of my disgust. Barking like slobbering hounds, ungrateful for the opportunity I’ve given them to live again, to be reborn, but no. They are creatures of habit, these dogs, these thoughts, this heart of mine. It wants what it had, and only when it gets it will it start wanting everything else as well.
[illustration by elba goodey]
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- consequences (3)
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