The White Void.
I wrote this almost immediately after being a passenger to a disappointing conversation amongst some acquaintances of mine.
“This is fact,” croaked the man’s voice from the void in the room, “they were the least progressive civilisation in the world.”
The man bellowed and bawled to influence the growth of this gaping hole that grew in the dark fathoms of the house.
“No wheel!” He must have said it over 60,000 times. “No wheel!”
In that moment, all of the songs were ripped from the air, dotted colours dragged from their canvas home. The guests sat idly by as they too succumbed to the ever-growing void.
“… Nothing without our influence.” Echoed around the vacant space that was now left. Clean, at least.
Clinically white.
No colour.
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