http://slow.writerscafe.org/Orethon The original writings of author Nash en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776383729 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 HAHA BET YOU THOUGHT YOU'D NEVER SEE THE TIME Also I'm just posting this in spurts and bits whenever I write enough more to be coherentish http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Orethon/1916396/ A wish was granted http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Orethon/1642364/ Gettin' tired of the tried and truesame old ways of makin it through.These days it feels like my brain is breakin'away from myself and my self deception.Maybe I shoulda tried to try a little harder,as hard as it is I oughta pushed myself a little farther.Hurts to tell myself I told you so,so what if.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Orethon/1606702/ The choice between having nothing to believe,or accepting your ultimate fear as inscrutable fact.This is what must be made.Your existence is undeniable, and yet, irrelevant.In the super-cosmic sense, you mean nothing.But even what such an insignificant being as you accepts as nothing,is so inseparab.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Orethon/1585852/ My heart poundsOn the door to heavenA sign is hungBy a noose “Sorry: we are closed”But stillMy heart poundsDark glimpse of the nornin which the echo resoundsTill the weary eye glimpses mornAnd resides by the wishing wellI toss in a coin and whisper“I don’t want to dwellIn dar.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Orethon/1574552/ I want to sleep. I want to fall upon my bed and let mydreams wash over me.I want to escape the world. I want to live in the only place I’m free.I don’t want to wake up. I don’t want to see the sun rise.I don’t want to see the faces of the living. I don’t wan.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Orethon/1568719/ Moonlight spills like rancid milkacross the city, catching in smoke and gurgling in gutters. In an alley,touched only by the dimmest of the celestial illumination, dark dealings areunderway. “These rates are acceptable… and thedeed shall be done within the season, yes?&rdq.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Orethon/1568255/ It is a sickly sweet scent thatcrowds and clamors in my nose, hinting at the inevitable rot. Wisteriafragrance wafts down from on high, dropped from magenta bundles of petals as amemento mori. It is not poison, but sugar, a worrisome aroma that whispersdeath. A leaf falls, swirling down onto.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Orethon/1411511/ A stream of consciousness tale that spiraled into a question and an answer. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Orethon/1401839/ Another world where life can be measured. More to come, maybe. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Orethon/1285502/ Explanations will have to wait. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Orethon/1265646/ Time passes inexorably, and life is tied to death. Thus comes the harvest. Part one of a potentially continued series. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Orethon/1247002/