literature

Vigilant

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Literature Text

I heard the waves crash upon the sandy shores and the screams of mothers and children. I could feel the panic seep through their bones in the form of violent raindrops and wailing winds. I listen as I hear the breaking of boards and houses. The sloshing of mud as it hits furniture and peoples legs.

The water is cold. Actually it's just a little chilly. Like the first steps one would take into the ocean. I'm soaking. If I had bones I know they would be soaked as well. But my stuffing is the only thing that feels soggy now.

I wish I could sit up straighter. I can't quite see over some of the debris that liters the ground. It's a horrible sight and every so often I see eyes, like mine, starring back at me. Not completely lifeless, but unanimated. Unable to see but aware.

Eyes that scream, that beg, that cry endless and invisible tears. A sadness that calls to the birds that circle overheard. Hungry. Gnarled. Wretched birds. I see the greed in their eyes, just as the men that scavenge the houses when the water receds, as it does every year. But this year, it was worse. Oh so much worse.

I am forgotten now. I suppose so any ways. They left so fast and forgot me. I am glad I can not cry, not with tears of being left behind but for why I must watch. I must watch as people scurry about like ants. In every sense they are ants.

Perhaps it can not be helped. After all they can not control the water that rose so high. So high that I saw people drown in the thick curls of waves. So high that I heard the smash of the sun as he collided with clouds. They can not control the rushing waters that stampede past them like wild horses.

I think they could have prevented it. I remember a loud siren bleating like a lost sheep in the middle of the night. It wailed loudly, but for some reason some people did not seem alarmed. I wonder why. It warned them, it tried. But they turned away and slept. Until the water.

The sound of bones and wind scattering through the water still lulls me to sleep. It's a depressing lullaby and I hate it. As much as my stuffing and buttons seep water. I think I'm falling apart.
Based off the prompt (From the Wonderful Literati) "Write from the perspective of an inanimate object." Past Prompts

It's a doll observing a hurricane and it's aftermath.


I LOVE PROMPTS.
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