Creepy Spaghetti—The Lonely Road

13th January 2021

Not far from where you are right now, quiet and expectant, lies The Lonely Road.

It’s dark-framed edges buffer against a cold stone of permanence, so icy in its countenance it seems to glow, as if bathed in the phantom light of some veiled moon.

This thin slither of will-o-the-wisp gravel is merely an innocuous, yet endless testimony in the light of day that is longed for and feared; a testament to the wraiths of those forgotten.

Those who walk The Lonely Road step upon the weathered bones of a myriad who came before.

And with every hesitation or twisted tongue that fumbles over the most uncomplicated of words, another falls to their knees, and another, in search of peace; of a hush that can never be, not within the silence of this place.

For the obsidian scry that envelops all who step here hungers. It imbibes with lascivious delight the obsequious desire of all who dare to look upon its ferocious millpond.

As emaciated branches engulf like grasping fingers and the road devours your every waking moment, you find yourself compelled as executive and entrepreneur alike; to look. To gaze into that Gorgon eye and find your character, your very essence become the stone beneath your feet and the frigid beat of the long-dead heart.

And dare you murmur your name so it might hear? That Lonely Road might once, just once, know who you are?

For but a single word is all it needs in its endeavour.

A single word.

(to be continued…)

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