That one hopeful candle that was burning? They snuffed it out. The air was full of static then, alive with the unmistakable buzz of anticipation. Hairs trembling and skin itching as waves of adrenal mismanagement poured forth into the collective subconscious. In the grainy treacle of humid darkness, the visions started to take form. Each mind tasting the silent and unfamiliar aroma of another’s involuntary mental image.The rash of fear spreading rapidly, leaping from soul to soul indiscriminately. It would only be a matter of time before the insidious flower of panic came to bloom, and then, of course, all hell would break loose; candle or no candle.
“And you stand in the shadows
The room, dark and narrow
I bloom down to the marrow
It’s a beautiful storm
It comes with no warning” ~heather nova, beautiful storm